


hear me out this time

by honeyvoiced



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, One Shot Collection, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyvoiced/pseuds/honeyvoiced
Summary: filled firby prompts that i received on tumblr!
Relationships: Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Comments: 62
Kudos: 106





	1. halloween

“Absolutely not.”

The grin on Kirby’s face immediately morphed into a pout as she lowered the shiny black wig back onto the cart she’d pulled it from.

“If I don’t get a wig, I’m seriously limiting my character options.” Twirling a lock of red hair around her finger, Kirby tilted her head to the side curiously and turned her gaze towards a nearby rack of handmade masks, instead, before asking, “What did you say that you were going as, again?”

Fallon sighed heavily, glancing back over her shoulder at her girlfriend across the sitting room. She’d thought that having the personal shoppers bring in a variety of Halloween costume choices for the other woman would speed the painful process of her brainstorming along, but so far it was just as torturous as Kirby’s procrastination had been.

“I didn’t say,” Fallon reminded her. “To remove the temptation for you to turn it into a couple’s costume.”

Kirby’s pout worsened as she pushed the masks aside and stepped closer to Fallon, reaching out to sling an arm around her waist from behind.

“What’s wrong with a couple’s costume?”

“Nothing,” Fallon hummed, “But I know that your idea of a couple’s costume won’t be anything short of humiliating.”

“That’s unfair,” Kirby insisted, “I have some very creative ideas.”

“Do they involve sticky corn syrup blood?” Fallon asked, already knowing the answer.

Kirby was silent for a moment.

“Right, so, whatever you had in mind is veto’d. Can you just hurry up and pick something, please? The party is in two days.”

Groaning, Kirby let go of the other woman’s waist and sidestepped her to begin pawing through the same rack Fallon had just been flipping through.

“This is too much effort for the least exciting part of Halloween. The party is the important part.”

“The  _ dressing up _ is the least exciting part? Kirby, it’s almost the only part. The whole made up holiday is a farce. Can you please just make this easy for me? All this synthetic fabric smell is giving me a headache.”

Pulling a pair of angel wings from the rack and holding them up to admire the detail, the redhead cocked her head to the side curiously. Fallon, not expecting her sudden silent focus, turned to glance at her before snorting once and choking back a laugh.

“Oh, that’s perfect.”

“Yeah? Think I could pull off  _ angelic _ ?” Kirby mused.

“No, but, that’s the point, isn’t it? One night totally removed from the realities of the real world? Being someone you’re not and getting drunk while doing so?”

Kirby swatted at her harmlessly, before hiking the wings up further and defiantly locking eyes with her girlfriend.

  
“I’ll take this one,” she announced to the staff, beaming as she handed them off to the nearest shopper and then crossing her arms over her chest. “That  _ was _ easy. Thanks, Fallon.”


	2. baby

“Tell me one more time why you’re making me do this.” 

Fallon paced back and forth in front of the television, ignoring the way that Kirby continued to lean around her to try to see the screen.

“I’m not making you do anything. Don’t be so dramatic.” Nestled tiredly in Kirby’s arms, the ‘this’ in question stirred a little before grabbing the bottle in the redhead’s hand with both of her own smaller ones and pulled it closer. “It’s only for another hour and a half, and  _ you _ are free to go elsewhere. Me and Annalise are perfectly comfortable watching the news without you and your bad vibes.”

“Most people have staff for that,” Fallon stopped her pacing to cross her arms and fixed Kirby with an unamused look. “ _ We _ have staff for that.”

Kirby sighed heavily.

“Yeah, well, they’re only in Atlanta for one more night and I thought she and her husband deserved some quality time. I don’t think that her intention when she hit up an old friend from school to babysit was to have her kid pawned off on someone else’s nanny for the night. Besides, I’m enjoying myself. She’s good company.”

“She can’t talk.” Fallon pointed out.

“It’s my favourite thing about her. Sort of a nice change of pace.”

Letting the insinuated insult slide, Fallon bit the inside of her cheek and then watched the pair of them for a moment. It was admittedly heartwarming, watching her wife cooing at the little thing as if they were carrying on a quiet conversation.

_ “Fallon-!” _

Kirby snapping at her for attention with her free hand, having handed the bottle off to the one year old, tore her out of her thoughts.

“I asked you if you wanted to hold her.”

Taking the bottle away softly without waiting for an answer, Kirby held Annalise out with both hands, causing Fallon to recoil back.

“No!”

Raising both eyebrows in confusion, Kirby brought the baby back to her chest and chuckled.

“It’s a baby. Not a virus.”

Fallon calmed herself, weaving around the coffee table to make her way to the couch and settle in beside the two of them, instead.

“I don’t want to drop someone else’s baby.”

Kirby laughed at that, causing Annalise to grumpily whine at the sound, snuggling in closer.

“You’d drop your own baby, though?” she questioned.

Fallon pondered this for a moment.

“Maybe. At least it would be my own fault. Good thing I don’t have any, then.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Kirby added.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them before Kirby suddenly plopped the baby into her unsuspecting wife’s lap without warning, causing her to scramble to hold her properly.

“Look at that, you’re doing it.” 

Fallon glared at her, trying to relax her now pounding heart. 

“Don’t do that again.”

Kirby ignored her, leaning over and squeezing one of Annalise’s feet gently. 

“Hm, I want one.”

Fallon lifted her eyes back to the redhead, trying to ignore the urge to cuddle the baby closer to herself, immediately overwhelmed with affection.

“You want a baby?” Fallon clarified.

Kirby nodded. “Not right now, obviously. But one of these days.”

Annalise yawned and buried her face into Fallon’s collar, causing the discussion to come to a halt as the two women locked eyes.

“Oh god,” Fallon nearly whimpered, bringing one hand up to rub her back while fighting off the mistiness she could feel trying to fill her eyes.

“You’re stuck like that, now,” Kirby pointed out, smiling. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt and reached for the bottle. “I’m going to reheat this, and when I get back we can revisit the baby discussion.”


	3. cuddle

“Oh my god, please, it’s so hot.” Fallon’s tone was absolutely tortured, pushing the redhead off of her almost roughly and slipping across the bed to a cooler section of the sheets.

“Well I can’t sleep!” Kirby snapped back, stretching one arm to reach for the brunette, slipping her hand around her bare waist.

Wriggling free again with a loud whine, Fallon shoved her girlfriend’s hand away and kicked the sheet down all in one movement, rolling over to clutch her pillow to her head as if she were trying to  _ aggressively _ block out her own frustration.

The pair of them laid still in the dark, silent for a moment.

Behind herself, Fallon heard and felt Kirby shift around before trying to settle in again, followed by another  _ very _ sad protest of:

“This isn’t the same.”

  
Curious, Fallon glanced over her shoulder and tried not to laugh, feeling too irritated to warrant it. Kirby was wrapped around one of the larger pillows from the head of the bed, one leg tucked in front of it while both of her arms held it to her torso.

“You don’t have a body pillow, do you?”

“I’m almost insulted,” Fallon hummed, turning around fully so that they faced each other.

“Well  _ this _ ,” Kirby nudged the pillow in her arms, “doesn’t squirm and complain nearly as much as the authentic version, but she’s busy avoiding me like I’m a leper.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Fallon flopped back onto her stomach, muttering into the pillow, “There’s extra pillows in the closet.”

The bed dipped and then rose again as Kirby made her exit, padding quietly across the floor.

Comfortably still, and cool, at last, Fallon felt her eyes grow heavy and she was nearly falling back to sleep when she heard her girlfriend return, making her way to Fallon’s side of the bed, first.

“Did you find Narnia?” she asked, blinking the sleepiness from her eyes as she began to try to sit up.

“No, even better.” Kirby chirped, dragging the floor fan she’d clearly discovered on her hunt for pillows behind herself. 

“What’sis?” Fallon could hear the tired slur in her own voice but didn’t bother to correct it, giving up on getting up altogether and flopping back to stare up at Kirby as she wandered off to plug the fan in.

“Compromise.” 

She returned to the bed and tugged the sheet up, effectively tucking Fallon back in before flicking the fan on and making her way around to her own side of the bed.

The breeze counter-balancing the sudden cloying heat of Kirby slipping back into the sheets and wrapping herself around Fallon was enough to force her eyes shut again, and with Kirby’s breathing turning slow, and even against the side of her neck, slumber took back over her before she even had the chance to thank her.


	4. surprise

“Must approach her  _ quietly _ , lest we make our location known to the packleader and accidentally get trampled. While they may not look like much, the spikes on her rear legs are -” Kirby froze, stifling a hiccup, before clutching the wall once more and continuing her quiet, if not a little slurred, monologue. “The spikes, intelligent design by  _ Christian Louboutin _ , are worth over four-hundred dollars each, can be responsible for any injuries ranging from mild scrapes, to full on blindness, should the mood strike her.”

Worming around the wall, steadying her vision, Kirby watched Fallon from across the room before surveying the area between them for any obstacles that would be a particularly difficult challenge for her in her inebriated state. 

Fallon, unaware, leaned over the dining room table in concentration and crossed one ankle behind the other, head cocking to the side as she read the papers spread out in front of her.

“The only way to properly subdue the beast is the element of surprise.”

Shuffling across the carpet and onto the hardwood with enough pressure and static build up to nearly send all of her hair on end, Kirby rushed at the brunette and grabbed her waist, but before she could let out her expertly-planned cry of victory, she was staring up at the ceiling, laying flat against the pile of papers that the other woman had just been looking over.

“Kirby,” Fallon said slowly, leaning over her and raising an eyebrow. Even in her half-drunken state, the redhead recognized the amused, if not endeared look in her eye perfectly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

She could feel a surging heat in her cheeks, most likely from a combination of her embarrassment, the alcohol, and the unexpected physical exertion. 

“Nothing?” Fallon repeated questioningly, and only then did Kirby realize how strong her grip on her wrists was. 

Shaking her head a little, Kirby sighed in relief as she was let go, taking two quick attempts to sit herself up properly and then stand fully, reaching back to straighten some of the papers she’d crumpled.

“It looks like you were trying to sneak up on me. Like a child. You’re drunk.” Fallon observed.

Puffing up her chest, Kirby crossed her arms.

“So what?” the slur in her voice didn’t help her case, but she didn’t waver. “You’re  _ lucky _ I was drunk. It could have been you on that table.”

“Uh huh.” Fallon smiled openly, now, nodding and closing her eyes for a moment to sarcastically emphasize how little she really believed her. “Good try, babe. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll be up in a minute.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Kirby spun on her heel to begin the dangerous trek up the marble stairs, clutching the handrail as if her life depended on it - and it probably did.

* * *

If Fallon did actually come up to bed after she’d finished working, she was already gone by the time Kirby woke up in the morning, a combination of the hangover and the sun streaming in through the part in the curtains making her groan in pain. 

“Wakey wakey,” Fallon’s voice was surprisingly welcome despite how cheerful she sounded, and Kirby rolled away from the window to watch her make her way back into the bedroom instead.

“I’m up. I wish I wasn’t, but I’m up.” she promised.

“What possessed you to get drunk alone on a Tuesday, by the way?” Fallon made her way towards the bed and handed the redhead a glass of water before settling in beside her.

“It was an accident,” Kirby hummed, before chugging most of the glass and setting it aside. “You know how jacuzzis are. I took a bottle of champagne in and I  _ felt _ fine and then, y’know. Stood up. Whoops.”

“Ah.” Reaching out to detangle a lock of her hair, Fallon dropped her hand enough to tilt Kirby’s chin up and squinted at her. “Your eyes are red. I’m going to see if those eye drops are still in the bathroom.”

The bed felt suddenly cold without her, so after a moment, Kirby slipped out of the sheets and headed towards the en-suite that Fallon had disappeared into.

Standing up on her toes and digging through the medicine cabinet top shelf, Fallon had  _ foolishly _ let down her defences, and the memories of the previous night came flooding back to Kirby in a single mischievous wave.

Grinning through biting her lip, Kirby tensed, softening her steps and sliding slowly across the marble tiles towards her girlfriend, taking one last glance to make sure that she wasn’t holding anything sharp, before reaching out to grab her.

“Hey -” Fallon barely had reacted, before grabbing Kirby surprisingly roughly and pushing her against the wall. Squeezing her eyes shut to prepare for the impact between her head and the medicine cabinet door that she had  _ narrowly _ missed, Kirby held her breath and waited a beat before opening her eyes again.

Fallon let go of her almost as quickly as she grabbed her, clearing her throat and smoothing her shirt out for her before holding out the eye drops.

“Don’t be annoying when I’m helping you.”

She left without another word, leaving Kirby to her hangover, alone.

* * *

The next two days were spent with Kirby attempting to catch Fallon unawares, with her luck ranging between ‘bad’ and ‘non-existent’. Her genuine annoyance in the bathroom that first morning had almost been enough of a deterrent to keep Kirby at bay, but by the third or fourth attempt she seemed to be in much better spirits, and a combination of what was her obvious good humour about the game, and the frustration of having yet to actually catch Fallon off guard, Kirby had mentally catalogued the experiment as a war, of sorts.

Trying to startle her while she was watching the news did more to frighten Bo than it did Fallon, reaching over without warning to push her while she was mid-stretch only earned Kirby a sharp elbow to the ribs and then a much more intentional slap to the thigh, which, ouch, and attempting to pounce on her from behind the couch almost got her throw into the coffee table. Almost.

It wasn’t until a bright and early Sunday morning, when Kirby was the first awake, for once, that she had her chance. It was only six o’ clock when she finished her shower and made her way back into the bedroom, noting that the brunette was still fast asleep. She’d been up late working, again, and as worrisome as it could be to see the brunette’s sleep schedule being twisted around, it was a little endearing, too.

“Fallon, you asleep?”

Kirby’s voice was barely above a whisper as she approached the bed, clutching her towel a little tighter around herself. 

Her girlfriend only groaned quietly in response, and she wasn’t sure if it was a still-asleep reflexive answer, or a ‘please shut up’ sort of sound, but climbed up onto the bed regardless, and slowly stretched out on top of the other woman.

With her chest pressed to Fallon’s back, she felt her sink further into the bed, a heavy exhale leaving her as she tried to fall back asleep. Her fingers dug into the sheets on either side of her pillow, eyes squeezing shut as if she could feel the redhead looking at her.

“I hate to do this to you, but you have to get up.” Kirby mumbled, pressing an apologetic kiss to her temple. “Brunch, remember?”

Whining softly, Fallon turned away in protest and buried her face into the pillow.

“Noooo, no.” Kirby reached for her hands, trying to pull them down, but Fallon only gripped the pillow tighter, despite seeming to realize that it was futile to try to relax any longer. “Hey. I will  _ absolutely _ tickle you if you force my hand.”

The threat hung heavily in the air between them for a moment, before Fallon began to shift around. Foolishly sliding back a little to give her room to sit up, Kirby quickly realized her mistake and dove on top of her again when she realized that the other woman was in fact  _ not _ moving to get out of bed, but rather wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

“That’s -” Kirby grabbed for her arms, trying to wrestle them away. “That’s cheating, and I can still -”

She dropped her arms and reached for the back of her neck,  _ intending _ to try to tickle her, but was instead met with an ear-shattering shriek, before the brunette nearly bucked her off of the bed and onto the floor.

“YOUR HANDS ARE  _ SO COLD _ .” Wriggling free from her girlfriend, Fallon practically scrambled to the head of the bed, holding both hands up in protest as if she thought Kirby was going to jump at her. “Don’t. I’m up. Oh my god, what is  _ wrong _ with your circulation? Are you dying?”

Flopping back against the mattress when the laughter overcame her, Kirby rolled onto her side and tried to muffle herself, despite the tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.

“Oh,  _ finally _ . I finally got that sound out of you. It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Seemingly having calmed her heart rate, “I don’t think you get points for attacking me while I was literally asleep.”

“Sleepy and asleep aren’t the same thing,” Kirby managed as she hiccuped the last of her laughter, rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin up on her fist. “How do you do that, anyway?”

Fixing her bun that had come loose in their scuffle, Fallon dropped her gaze to the redhead sprawled out in front of her and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Do what?” 

“Know when I’m coming,” Kirby clarified.

“Because you’re about as graceful as a chimpanzee.” 

“Don’t be mean.”

Fallon sighed.

“It’s not just you. I started taking self-defence with Monica after… y’know.” Clearing her throat and dropping her girlfriend’s gaze, she shrugged. “It’s reflexive, now.”

  
Sensing her discomfort, Kirby frowned and sat up enough to squirm closer, dropping her head into Fallon’s lap before relaxing again.

“Well,” she started, “You can keep practicing on me, then. I’ll get better at it and you can keep from getting cold.”

Fallon glanced down at her and chuckled.

“I think you just like it when I beat up on you.”

Kirby grinned, tilting her head into Fallon’s palm when she started to run her fingers through her damp hair. 

“Maybe a little.”


	5. camping

“Are you really gonna be alright? Out in the dirt… with the bugs?” Kirby watched from the bed as Fallon held up two seemingly identical pairs of shoes and eyed them scrutinizingly. 

“The bugs out here won’t literally kill you, and they’re actually, y’know,  _ bug-sized _ .” Fallon hummed back, dropping one of the pairs and kicking them aside in rejection. As she made her way back to the bed and held them out to her girlfriend, she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re  _ now _ trying to get out of this. This hike was your idea and I want to get it over with.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Slipping off of the bed and stepping into the shoes, Kirby wiggled her feet around for a moment, then nodded. 

“These are good.”

“Are you sure?” Fallon demanded, “Because you’ll be on your feet for a while.”

“Yeah,  _ mom _ , thanks.”

Sidestepping away before Fallon could swat at her, Kirby walked back and forth across the room to test the comfort, before kicking them off and diving onto the bed again with a bounce. 

“Are we gonna stay in a tent?”

“No,” Fallon scoffed, vanishing back into her closet. 

“Not an RV, right?” Kirby winced through her question.

“No,” Fallon’s voice came from within the closet, quieter, now. “No RV. We’re going to be in a cabin.”

“That’s hardly camping,” Kirby pointed out.

“You said hiking,” Fallon reminded her. “I agreed to  _ hiking _ .”

“The camping was implied.” Kirby huffed, following the sound of Fallon’s voice into the closet and grinning despite herself at the sight of the other woman. The area around her looked like a bomb had gone off in a department store, with clothes strewn about and every drawer open. “What… is happening in here?”

“I can’t find my leggings. The yellow ones?”

Kirby thought about them, her mind wandering to exactly how the other woman looked in said leggings, and then remembered where they were - tucked in the bottom of her own laundry basket after she’d borrowed them (without asking) for her own workout.

“Not sure I even remember the ones you’re talking about,” the redhead lied, shrugging and reaching out to grab Fallon’s hands softly as she turned to dig through yet another half-upturned drawer. 

“Nothing about this is going easily,” Fallon huffed.

“Well,” Kirby started slowly, letting go of her only to tuck a piece of hair back behind her ear. “That’s because you’re manifesting more stress. Think about…”

She took the brunette’s hands in her own again and pursed her lips in thought.

“Fresh smores.”

“I hate marshmallows,” Fallon argued, but Kirby wasn’t deterred.

“A nice fire after a cool evening.”

“You gonna chop the wood?” Fallon challenged.

“Sex under the stars?” Kirby tried one last time, which made her girlfriend laugh - but not cave in.

“Sounds terrible. Cold and itchy.” 

Dropping her hands and shaking her head in amusement, Kirby turned to leave her to her panic-packing.

“You’re impossible,” she insisted. As she was about to step out of the closet, she was pulled back by the hips, laughing to herself when she felt Fallon’s lips press apologetically to her shoulder.

“How about… having the whole place to ourselves for a weekend? Or not having anywhere to be in the mornings?”

Turning to face Fallon properly, Kirby smirked smugly at her and then shrugged.

“That sounds… alright. It’s no smores, but…”

“Okay, out.” Rolling her eyes despite having to fight to keep the smile off of her face, Fallon dropped her arms to her sides before pushing Kirby away dismissively.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Kirby laughed, heading back out and towards the door to retrieve the leggings.


	6. drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Would you be able to write something about either Fallon or Kirby coming home really drunk and the other one taking care of them slash the drunk one being embarrassingly honest! Preferably fluffy but whatever you like (:

“What the hell happened?” 

Kirby clutched her robe tighter around herself as she made her way down the stairs and into the main foyer. Sam, who also appeared to have seen better days before himself, stumbled as he tried to counter-balance the brunette leaning against his side.

“After-work drinks turned into shots, turned into a competition, like everything does.” Sam’s explanation seemed reasonably believable. While Fallon often seemed like the more responsible out of the two of them, her competitive side, paired with her odds-to-the-wind occasionally poor decision making could be a deadly combination. 

Especially with alcohol involved.

“Right,” Kirby sighed, slumping down the last couple of steps and holding her arms out. “I’ll take her.”

She tried to step forward herself, but Sam held her fast, depositing Fallon securely into Kirby’s grasp before he let her go. Exhaling hard, almost winded as her girlfriend immediately threw all of her body weight into her, Kirby straightened both herself and Fallon up, before saluting goodnight to Sam with two fingers.

“‘M’not a  _ baby _ ,” Fallon insisted, her tone just balancing on the brink of being too slurred.  _ Like speaking in cursive _ , Kirby thought. Her irritated tone turned into a sigh, and she exhaled heavily against the side of Kirby’s neck. “Hm. You look so pretty.”

It made her smile, despite her earlier concern, but as she turned to face the massive staircase that the two of them were going to have to tackle, she felt her smile fall.

“Lets sober you up first, hm?” she suggested.

Fallon groaned in protest, pushing herself off of Kirby to stand on her own. Kirby froze, watching her for a moment as she tried to steady herself, holding her breath until her wobbling came to a halt, and she stilled.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Kirby raised an eyebrow in what she hoped was a good approximation of Fallon’s own stern-face, which she’d been on the receiving end of more than her fair share of times.

“I’m not  _ that _ drunk,” Fallon promised. “But I  _ am _ exhausted. I think Randahl is planning to back out of the sequel package and somehow the barista got my coffee order wrong  _ twice  _ this afternoon -”

Kirby couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head a little bit. Even drunk, she was still talking about work.

“Fine, then, lets get something to eat, and we can go to bed. Okay?”

Fallon eyed her - albeit her gaze was a little unfocused - and then agreed.

“Fine.”

Taking a step forward, she stumbled a little, and Kirby quickly took her hand, dragging her towards the kitchen despite her protests. 

They were mercifully alone, and Fallon quickly climbed clumsily up onto the prep counter before Kirby could even turn around.

“What are you doing?”

“I got tired of standing. My feet hurt.”

Kirby’s eyes travelled down Fallon’s legs to her feet, sighing at the sight of her stilettos looking more dirty and scuffed than the brunette would ever allow sober. She knew that in the morning, Fallon would be pissed, but for now, she was blissfully swaying, smiling sleepily as she watched the redhead watching her.

Closing the cupboard that she was opening, Kirby made her way over and dipped down, slightly, gently picking up one of her feet and lifting it - slowly, not wanting to have her fall back on the counter in her already unbalanced state - and loosening the ankle strap.

Fallon was mercifully, but uncharacteristically quiet as Kirby pulled the stiletto free and set it on the floor, moving to work on the second one, so she looked up in confusion.

Fallon was staring back at her, squinting slightly with the smallest hint of a smile on her face. It just so happened to be a favourite look of hers - and it made Kirby squirm on the spot even though Fallon clearly didn’t know she was doing it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Fallon hummed, her smile growing. “You’re  _ really  _ pretty.”

“Oh, brother.”

Her deadpan reaction obviously amused her girlfriend, who started giggling and then couldn’t seem to stop.

“ _ What _ is so funny?”

Her question only made Fallon laugh harder, shaking her foot free from Kirby’s hand and then hooking both of her legs around her hips to pull her closer.

“I love you.”

It was a drunk, carefree statement, but it made Kirby’s breath catch in her throat. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, but it wasn’t something she heard  _ often _ . It wasn’t that Fallon  _ couldn’t _ say it, she just always found ways of saying it in other ways. Hearing it now, though, as just a matter-of-fact sigh of a promise, Kirby felt the grin grow across her face as she regarded the other woman in amusement.

“I love you too, Fallon.”

Wiggling free from her leg-grip, Kirby made her way back to the cupboards and began to pull them open, in search of a plate. 

“D’you want white or brown toast?”

“I don’t want toast,” Fallon groaned, tacking on a quiet, “Maybe I  _ am  _ drunk.”

“Well,” Kirby explained, “This is about  _ needs,  _ not wants. And it’s far too late for coffee, so, toast it is. Maybe some pre-emptive ibuprofen.”

“If I let you make me toast, you have to promise you’re never going to bring this up, again.”

Kirby pretended to roll the idea around in her mind, but Fallon whining loudly at her cut her teasing short.

“Fine! Fine. Stop making that awful noise.”

Smiling brightly at having gotten her way - and Kirby suspected that protesting the toast was more for the sake of being difficult than  _ really _ not wanting it - Fallon swung her legs back and forth a little, her heels thumping against the cupboards beneath the island counter she was perched on.

“Kirby?”

“Yes, Fallon.”

“Have I told you that you’re pretty?”


	7. fridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Person A having trouble getting an appliance to work Person B staring at them in disbelief

“What the hell… are you doing?”

Fallon paused in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the sight of the food that covered every available bit of counter-space.

“Did you know this fridge keeps track of your groceries?” Kirby didn’t even look away from the fridge in front of her, shoulders hunched as she peered at the small screen on the front of the door.

Fallon stepped further into the kitchen and clicked her tongue, almost physically feeling the gears turning in her head as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

“So, you’ve decided to let all of ours go bad, so that we can start over?”

Finally turning to look at her, Kirby fixed her girlfriend with an unimpressed look, then swiped a bag of oranges from the nearest countertop and held them up.

“Don’t be a pessimist. Look.”

Humoring her, Fallon came closer still and sighed, crossing her arms.

Lighting up, Kirby whirled back around to face the fridge and began punching buttons on the screen. 

“Okay, so, oranges… bought on Sunday…”

The screen showed a loading screen, then beeped in confirmation, reading out:  _ ORANGES - REPLACE THURSDAY _ .

Clapping excitedly, Kirby all but flung the bag of oranges into the fridge, turning around and surveying the remaining groceries on the counter, tapping her lip in thought.

Wanting this whole ordeal to be finished with sooner rather than later, Fallon grabbed a package of yogurt and held it out for the redhead to take, sighing.

The yogurt, however, seemed to be a considerably more difficult option. Prodding away at the buttons impatiently, Kirby groaned and then tossed the package into the open fridge so roughly that it was a wonder the cups didn’t burst open.

“Okay, okay, easy.” Fallon stepped forward quickly as Kirby slammed the palm of her hand flat against the touch screen, as if trying to wake it up.

“It’s frozen.”

Biting back the pun that threatened to escape her lips, Fallon shook her head and grabbed Kirby’s wrist as she went to hit the screen once more. 

“Stop,” Fallon hushed her, pulling her aside and stepping forward to take a look at the fridge herself. “Let me try.”

“You have to press ‘ _ Load New’ _ ,” Kirby helpfully supplied, but it didn’t nothing but add to Fallon’s impatience.

“Thank you,” she hissed tersely. “I think I got it.”

After a few fruitless attempts to reload the screen, Fallon slammed her own palm to it and groaned.

“This thing is  _ stupid _ .”

“You’re not hitting ‘ _ Load New’ _ ,” Kirby insisted, nudging Fallon aside to try again, herself. 

“Kirby, seriously, you’re going to break it.” Fallon snapped, nudging her back.

The pair of them struggled against each other to get closer to the screen momentarily before it flashed white and a loud computer-like voice filled the kitchen.

_ “Bonjour!” _

“You changed it to French!” Kirby pointed accusingly at the brunette. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“ _ Why  _ would I change the language setting on our fridge.  _ How  _ would I do that, when clearly neither of us knows how it works?”

Kirby stared at her suspiciously for a beat, then shrugged, scooping up an armload of food from the counter and haphazardly shoving it back into the fridge.

“Fine. We’ll return to this later.” Kirby picked up a banana and pointed it accusingly at her girlfriend. “This  _ isn’t over.” _

Watching the redhead vanish around the corner, out of the kitchen, Fallon leaned over to make sure that she was really gone, before turning back to the screen in front of her.

_ “Dormir.”  _

The screen blinked once as if in understanding, and then faded into ‘sleep’ mode. Sighing peacefully, Fallon rearranged her features into a smile, and shut the door.


	8. playfight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m serious - DON’T come any closer”

Fallon and Kirby worked well, together. It had taken them a little while to find their footing, but once they had, they flowed around each other in perfect harmony - anticipating one another’s ideas, needs, or plans, and leaving their competition in the dust as a direct result. 

There was the occasional hiccup, of course, one of them not be able to anticipate a particular need, or more commonly, a moment of particular neediness. Fallon found herself apologizing a little more often than she was used to for working late hours, leaving in the morning without a goodbye, or being too in her own head to focus on anything else, namely the other woman.

This, it turned out, was one of those moments.

The pair of them were settled on the couch, with the floor around them and table beside them covered in a mess of paperwork that seemed to get less and less coherent the longer that Fallon stared at it. The ice in the glass that Kirby had been drinking from stopped clinking around just as Fallon was beginning to grow used to the sound of her stirring it with her straw, which somehow was even more irritating than the sound had initially been.

Setting the glass down on the table after sliding some papers aside, Kirby settled back into her spot, and Fallon could _ feel _ that she was staring at her, without having to look up from her work. 

They wouldn’t have had so much backlogged paperwork if Fallon had been firmer in the first place about not being distracted. She wasn’t going to give in and make the same mistake again.

Kirby cleared her throat, and Fallon narrowed her eyes, willing herself to focus harder on the papers in front of her.

“Fallon.”

“Mm,” her response was more of an acknowledging grunt than a word, and she pointedly turned the page to continue to pretend to absorb the words on the page.

Kirby didn’t respond, for a moment, and then Fallon felt the dull cap end of a pen slide up her instep, along the dip on the side of her stiletto. She didn’t so much as flinch - years of men assuming her business-flirting was an invitation to touch her had the singular helpful payoff of letting her turn her outward physical reactions on and off by mood - but Kirby wasn’t deterred.

“_ Fal _-lon,” she tried again, this time with a sing-song tone. The pen prodded at her toe and she let out a resigned sigh.

“I’m not in the mood, Kirby.”

Pulling her legs away from the other woman entirely and setting her feet on the floor, she took a moment to mourn her comfort and tried, with renewed energy, to focus on her work.

“You’re going to get a headache if you keep staring at that without your glasses,” Kirby insisted. Before Fallon could properly comprehend what she was saying, the redhead leaned over across her lap and plucked the page from her hands.

“Hey -”

She reached for the page but Kirby held it away, tossing it gently onto the table with the rest of the paperwork, turning back to Fallon with a smug look.

She’d obviously thought she’d won, and Fallon couldn’t blame her - her own reaction to her girlfriend laying in her lap was to reflexively rest one arm across her waist. She wasn’t exactly selling how uninterested in this game she was.

“C’mon,” Kirby insisted, smiling hopefully.

“No.” Pushing Kirby gently off of her lap and back into her own spot on the couch, Fallon stood up and made her way towards the hallway that lead to the kitchen. 

Kirby followed a moment later, catching up to her and grabbing her wrist.

“Are you really mad at me?”

Sighing heavily, knowing defeat was imminent, Fallon turned to face her and quirked an eyebrow. The redhead had arranged her features into an _ almost _believable pout. 

“No,” she began, “I’m not mad at you, we just have a lot of w-”

Kirby cut her off with a kiss. It was sweet, if not a little enthusiastic, and she pulled away before Fallon was ready for her to. 

Looking at her in confusion, feeling almost dazed, Fallon watched her features morph from bright and happy back into smug. Her eyes very purposefully dropped to Fallon’s lips before she kissed her again, much more slowly, and by the time Fallon was pulling her closer and slipping her own arms around Kirby’s waist, she realized that she’d been had.

“No, no.” Fallon broke the kiss and leaned back in the other woman’s arms to look at her. “That isn’t working. Not right now. I’m going to get a coffee, and then we’re going to finish every last one of those reports, and _ then _we can raincheck on this.”

Moving to slip out of her arms, she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat when Kirby’s arms didn’t immediately give way. 

“What?” Kirby’s voice was light, now, playful. “What happened to coffee? Working?”

“Seriously, I’m not in the mood.” Fallon could hear the smile creep into her tone despite her frustration and she immediately knew that she had lost the war.

“I’m not - doing anything.” Kirby’s voice strained a little as she struggled to stay as still as possible while holding Fallon to her. She had considerably less self-control over pretending not to be enjoying the hell out of herself, grinning openly and digging her heels into the floor to try to maintain her stance.

“I _ will _ fight dirty,” Fallon threatened.

There was a pause, where Kirby seemed to be mentally weighing her options. Fighting dirty could mean any number of things, and some posed a bigger risk to her health than others. Fallon didn’t give her the chance to decide, before hooking one leg behind Kirby’s and pulling her knee forward, causing her legs to buckle.

Her calculation was off, though, and the two of them both slid to the floor. Fallon’s earlier desire to get back to work was overtaken by a deeper, more instinctual instinct to _ win _and she wasted no time in straddling one of the redhead’s legs to grab her hands.

“What the hell?” Kirby obviously didn’t expect an answer to her question, laughing through her words as she tried to grab for the brunette’s arms before her own were rendered completely useless.

“I’m going to say this one more time. I’m going to get a coffee, and then we’re going to finish the paperwork. Repeat that.”

Squirming around and trying to maneuver onto her stomach in an attempt to crawl free, Kirby gasped back:

“You’re going to get a coffee and then you’re going to finish the paperwork.”

“Funny,” Fallon hummed, “That’s funny.”

She calculated that they probably only had another minute before someone from the staff came to investigate the commotion and would find them rolling around on the floor like they were children, so she made the most of it.

Worming her hands under the other woman’s jacket, Fallon pinched at her ribs and then her side, smirking victoriously when she was rewarded by a (dramatic, exaggerated) yelp of ‘pain’, followed by a fit of laughter. Fallon's incessant prodding half-tickled and half-hurt, leaving Kirby wholly breathless and trying to twist free.

“Do you yield?” Fallon could hear how ridiculous she sounded, but couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. It was an admittedly dirty maneuver, and the last time she'd pulled it from her repertoire had probably been when they were much _much_ younger, with the genuine intent to humiliate. “No more distractions?”

“_ Stop! _ ” Kirby insisted, “This is a _ literal _war crime!”

Hearing footsteps approaching from the opposite wing, Fallon quickly climbed to her feet, leaving Kirby in a pile on the floor to catch her breath as she made her way towards the kitchen as swiftly and silently as possible. 

Kirby was on her tail in moments, though she slid past Fallon to the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water, instead, holding it to her forehead. Of all of the intentional distractions she’d caused, Fallon found that this was the most effective - the redhead flushed, breathless, and leaning against the counter with her eyes closed and lips parted. 

And then she caught Fallon staring.

“What?”

“What?” Fallon repeated, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She stumbled to maintain her composure, quirking an eyebrow. “You can’t be that out of shape that you’re worn out from _ that _.”

“It’s hot in here!” Kirby defended, her tone laced with offence. “You’re looking sort of out of breath, yourself.”

Her words only made Fallon’s blush turn hotter, and she narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

“Shut up.”

“Do you want some of this?” Kirby held the bottle out, pulling off the cap and gesturing like she was threatening to douse her in it.

Wincing away quickly and holding up both hands in defense, Fallon made an embarrassing noise of protest and squeezed her eyes shut to brace for the sudden shower of cold water. When it didn’t come, she peeked one eye open and lowered her hands, and was met with the sight of Kirby watching her in amusement.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I wouldn’t mind sharing. C’mere.”

She stepped closer, and Fallon went back on the defensive, backing up quickly and trying to put the island counter between them for distance.

“No, Kirby, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” her tone was faux-innocent, but the grin on her face was anything but.

“I’m serious - DON’T come any closer.”

Faking left and then rushing around the right side of the counter, Kirby reached out with her free hand and almost caught Fallon by the waist, laughing outright when she darted out of the kitchen and down the hall. Running in heels was a skill that Fallon had rarely needed in life, but in that moment, was thankful she’d developed.

She’d nearly made a clean getaway when Sam rounded a corner and Fallon almost toppled both herself and the other man, running into him full force. 

“Where’s the fire?” he asked, glancing up in time to see Kirby trying to stop herself before running into them as well. The impact caused her to squeeze the bottle hard enough to displace all of its contents, and the three of them were quickly showered with ice cold, filtered spring water.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam asked, and even though he was looking at Kirby, Fallon knew that the question was directed at both of them.

“Sorry -” Kirby started, holding up the now-empty bottle in gesture. “_ Fallon _started it, and I just -”

“Okay, I did not!” Turning away from Sam, Fallon whirled around to give her girlfriend and incredulous look. “_ You _started it when you wouldn’t let me -”

“I’ve decided that I don’t care.” Sam announced, raising his voice over both of theirs. The bickering died down, and he raised an eyebrow as they both turned to him once more. “I need to go change, _ apparently _ , so if you two could save whatever this is for the bedroom, I’m sure the rest of the house would all appreciate staying dry, and _ not _being bowled over.”

He turned to leave again, and Fallon whirled around to Kirby one last time.

“You _ did _technically start this, so -”

“I’d love to stay and discuss this,” Kirby hummed, her tone suddenly turning bored and snooty. “But _ some _of us are trying to get work done, so if you’ll excuse me…”

She headed back towards the living room that they’d been stationed in earlier, and Fallon’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“You…”

She wasn’t even sure what to say, so instead she twisted her features into a mischievous smirk, pushing her wet hair back to chase the redhead down the hall.


	9. bo

“Look at you two,” Fallon stopped in the doorway of the sitting room, quirking an eyebrow at the sight of Kirby sprawled out on the carpet holding a magazine over her head, while Bo took his place on the couch.

It seemed a little backwards, but given Kirby’s newfound obsession with the Bloodhound - not to mention a more-than-likely genetic predisposition to dogs, if her father was any indication - it wasn’t surprising.

Tilting her head back to observe Fallon upside-down, Kirby’s face broke out into a smile, and she dropped the magazine at her side. 

“What are you doing on the floor?”

“Couch was taken,” Kirby pointed out, settling in as Fallon approached her. “Wow, even pretty from this angle.”

Standing directly above her head and staring down at her, Fallon tried to resist looking too endeared. The comment was intentionally cheesy, but then again, most of Kirby’s flirting usually was.

“There are other couches,” she pointed out.

“True, but then I’m not within optimal petting distance.” To hammer home her point, Kirby reached up and scratched Bo’s side, causing him to snuffle quietly and adjust himself more comfortably on the cushions.

“He’s not even supposed to be on the furniture,” Fallon sighed, settling in beside the dog and giving him a pat of her own.

“Why not? He’s a Carrington. I wouldn’t kick  _ you  _ off the couch.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Fallon countered, smirking down at the other woman as she rolled over onto her stomach to prop herself up on her elbows. 

“Well… not for no reason,” Kirby ceded, mirroring Fallon’s smirk before sitting up fully and reaching for the dog again. “Ugh. I can’t believe how long I begged for a dog and you didn’t get one until after I was gone.”

“To be fair, the dog was to replace Alexis, not you,” Fallon pointed out.

“As if you could replace me,” Kirby snarked back, though her words hung in the air for a moment before Fallon cleared her throat.

“Of course not.” Fallon agreed. “At least not with a dog. Maybe some kind of exotic bird.”

_ “Hey!” _

Twisting away and pulling her legs up underneath herself on the couch, Fallon laughed as Kirby used the pillow she had been propped on to swing on the brunette, barely missing her but succeeding in jostling Bo awake once more.

Kirby followed her, though, scrambling up onto her knees and swinging the pillow again, this time smacking it against Fallon’s outstretched arm.

“I’d replace you with an iguana!” she insisted.

“Expensive, exotic, gets to sit in the warmth all day… I can handle that comparison.” Fallon grabbed the pillow when the redhead swung on her a third time, wrestling it away from her and then tucking it behind herself for safe keeping.

“Slimy, kind of bug-eyed…” Kirby continued the description, but the grin on her face took the venom out of her words. 

“Hilarious,” Fallon deadpanned, settling in to her spot a little more as Kirby rested her hands on her thighs and caught her own breath.

“I stand by it, though. It  _ is  _ a little unfair.”

Fallon watched the redhead’s face carefully for a moment, before shrugging and trying to keep her tone as casual as possible - as to not incite an over-enthusiastic response.

“Well, maybe we could look into it.”

“Look into what?” Kirby asked, pushing herself up from her knees to stand, causing Fallon to tilt her head back to keep her gaze on hers.

“A pet. Bo is old, now, anyway, maybe you should learn some real responsibility. Deal with the whole puppyhood nightmare of training yourself.”

She watched the realization dawn on Kirby’s face as she contemplated Fallon’s words, before letting out an excited squeal and nearly tackling the brunette on her spot on the couch. 

“Ah, okay, bony dog ass in my  _ spine!”  _ Fallon protested, wincing through the hug and sighing in relief when Kirby quickly let go of her and sat up.

“Oh, sorry.” 

Bo huffily got up as well, once Fallon was no longer squished on top of him, and climbed down from the couch, plopping down in Kirby’s previous spot on the floor instead. 

“When can we go? Can we go now?”

“I said  _ look into it _ , Kirby, not  _ immediately go find a breeder, and -” _

“I don’t want  _ that, _ ” Kirby insisted. “If I’m getting a dog I’m doing it the right way. One that needs a home. Not just the result of stuffy designer genetic inbreeding. No offence, Bo.”

Both women glanced at the dog in question, but he was already fast asleep again.

“Fine. Go get dressed.”

Kirby nearly left a cloud of dust behind herself as she scampered off, leaving Fallon to call after her, “We’re just  _ looking  _ today!” 

  
“Yeah, yeah!” she called back, but Fallon was sure she could  _ hear  _ the self-assured smirk in her tone.


	10. sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Léa, because we both go absolutely stupid over Fallon wearing soft sweaters.  
This one got smutty and out of hand, my bad.

Fallon had yet to produce a single outfit that Kirby didn’t love her in. Even her more ridiculous ensembles had their various individual charms to them. The blue jacket-and-skirt combo that she’d worn a month prior had shoulder pads a little too large for the redhead’s liking, but the color made Fallon’s eyes sparkle like some kind of rare blue fluorite. The nearly-neon pink bikini was almost painfully bright to look at, but the shade of it made the brunette’s tan look considerably richer, and a single lingering look at her laying out in the sun on a hot day was usually motivation enough for Kirby to have to dive into the deep end of the Carrington Manor pool to mentally  _ and  _ physically cool down. 

Elegant, body-conscious dresses set off the butterflies in her stomach that had made their home there when she was young and never quite left. Fallon in evening wear had the odd effect of making Kirby want to drag her away from whatever party they were at while simultaneously not wanting her to get undressed. It was easy to daydream about attending events together, essentially forever, when she watched Fallon from across the crowded room. Maybe, one day, with matching wedding rings.

And then, of course, there were the more obvious choices. The weak excuses for camisoles ( _ “That’s definitely lingerie, not a shirt, Fallon”),  _ the painstakingly crafted and detailed bra and panty sets, and of course, possibly her best outfit: absolutely nothing.

For no discernable reason, however, one specific  _ look  _ in particular set Kirby completely off, every single time she saw it. It was a rare event, but very  _ very  _ occasionally, usually on a cool or rainy evening, often accompanied by a crackling fire or an equally-cozy throw blanket, Fallon would pull from her closet the softest, bulkiest, knit sweaters, and seem to choose whichever one of the small collection was the most suitable to coil up into like a turtle.

There had to be some sort of scientific, hormonal explanation for  _ why  _ the sight of her usually dressed-to-the-nines girlfriend in comfortable clothing set off some sort of feral mania within her - it was like the unexplainable need to  _ squish  _ things that were too cute, or gritting one’s teeth through a particularly intense surge of maternalness. 

While the sight of Fallon parading around in lingerie and stilettos could make Kirby’s mouth turn dry in a nanosecond, the instinct to pounce when Fallon was curled up in one of those stupid, oversized,  _ frumpy  _ fucking sweaters was much  _ much  _ stronger. 

Like now, for instance, while the brunette was cuddled up into the corner of the couch next to the outdoor fireplace, a book open and propped up against her bent knees. She  _ should  _ have been wearing her glasses - straining her eyes against both the small print on the page and the uneven light from the fire - and complaining about that was exactly how Kirby managed to keep herself at bay, momentarily.

“You’re going to go blind. Where are your glasses?”

Glancing back over her shoulder, Fallon quirked an eyebrow as the redhead approached.

“They were giving me a headache. Where were you?”

“Getting some air,” Kirby came a little closer, resting her hands against the arm of the couch that Fallon was leaned on, and peering over her head at the book.

With her head tilted all the way back, loose, lightly-curled tendrils fell from the brunette’s face and joined her ponytail, draped down the arm of the couch. Kirby was hit with the overwhelming urge to kiss her - she looked  _ perfect _ like this. Soft, and unassuming, and  _ unbearably snuggly.  _ The impossibly sensitive and unfairly soft skin of her neck peeking out of the oversized collar of the fabric was particularly tempting - the combination of the sweater, the blanket, and the roaring fire would have practically turned her into a hot pad by that point in the evening, and Kirby knew that if she were to climb up onto the couch with her and nuzzle into her, she’d probably be asleep in seconds.

“... Can I help you?” Fallon asked, after another moment of Kirby staring at her, righting herself and kicking the book aside.

“Mhm, I wanted to ask you something.” Kirby stood upright, gently gathering up the other woman’s ponytail into her hands and running her fingers from one hand through it carefully as the other toyed with the thick yarn of the sweater.

“I’m listening,” Fallon breathed, sounding preemptively irritated.

“Are my hands cold?”

She dipped her fingers under the hem of the sweater and laughed, pressing her hand to her waist, and then, when she squealed and jolted forward to escape, her lower back. Her hypothesis that Fallon had managed to heat herself up like a compress hadn’t been wrong, and she  _ had  _ forgotten to wear gloves on her lap around the yard. Fallon’s skin was hot to the touch, and Kirby would have felt a little guilty, were she not revelling in the fact that this  _ was  _ a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion.

Like dropping ice cubes into a cup of coffee, her fingers managed to cool the sensitive spot at the bottom of her spine almost instantly, so Kirby let her hands travel elsewhere, thoroughly enjoying the way that the throw blanket Fallon had  _ so foolishly  _ wrapped herself in was now her prison, impeding her escape no matter how frantically she squirmed. It would only take another minute before her hands warmed up to a less devastating temperature so she covered as much ground as possible, pressing ice cold palms and knuckles between her shoulders and around her stomach, moving too quickly for the other woman to catch her. 

She aimed everywhere that she knew Fallon was particularly sensitive, from previous, much less tortuous (depending on who was asked for comment) research, and as her hands slid up to brush along the undersides of her breasts, she noticed a lack of impediment, and paused.

“ _ Fallon,”  _ she gasped, feigning shock. “ _ Where  _ is your bra?”

The other woman stiffened at the light, teasing tone that the redhead had suddenly taken on, wincing a little as she leaned closer to kiss her cheek affectionately and subsequently pressing her still-cold nose to her temple.

“I-” 

Kirby didn’t give her a chance to explain, cupping both of her breasts without warning and chuckling lowly at the strangled hybrid of a squeal and a moan that escaped before Fallon could stop herself. 

“What an interesting coincidence,” Kirby mused, pausing only to press her lips to Fallon’s neck before continuing: “Have I mentioned I love this sweater?”

“A few times,” Fallon breathed. Kirby could feel her heart pounding against her fingers that rested against her ribs.

“Hm.” Rolling one of her nipples experimentally between her fingertips, Kirby inventoried the quiet gasp that the tiny, simple action had produced, and then pulled her now-warm hands out from the sweater altogether. “I’ll be inside. Come upstairs when you’re done… reading by yourself out here?”

Staring at her in disappointed confusion for a moment, Fallon seemed to remember her abandoned book, leaning over to grab it from where she’d kicked it onto the ground. Sitting upright, again, feeling almost lightheaded and overwhelmed from the sudden changes in temperature, she looked around the patio, but Kirby had already began to head back towards the house.

Kicking wildly to detangle herself from the throw blanket, Fallon gathered her things, straightened the sweater, and all but chased her girlfriend inside.


	11. zoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fallon takes Kirby to the Zoo to cheer her up. Kirby is pointing out all the animals like a little kid all excited to which Fallon secretly can't help but smile at.

One of the most refreshing things about Kirby was the way that she was usually so open with herself about how she was feeling. Even when she wasn’t quite ready to talk about it with anyone else, there was always clear ‘me work’ being done behind the scenes whenever something was eating away at her. By the time she came to Fallon with any sort of grievance, she was generally prepared, having inventoried all of her thoughts and feelings on the matter at hand, and ready to present them like a pitch to a board of directors. Even more helpfully, she often told Fallon outright what she needed in order to feel better.  _ You upset me when you did blank, I need you to blank so I know that it won’t happen again.  _ Fallon’s feelings, her love, were complicated, even when it came to Kirby - sometimes it could be so overwhelming that it was scary - but her relationship didn’t need to be. 

It was rarely miscommunication that caused any issues between the two of them to linger longer than necessary, but more often sheer stubbornness. What was worse was when the issue wasn’t between them, but rather an outside force that one or the other couldn’t help to fight off.

In this particular case, it was the weather. Fallon Carrington may have been one of the most powerful women in Atlanta, but even she couldn’t crank the temperature up a few degrees to keep her girlfriend happy.

She found Kirby sitting alone in the den, angrily surfing through the television channels without any outward sign of actually intending to find anything to watch. When she’d checked the weather that morning while they were still both lazily curled up in bed, and it had called for cool temperatures and a strong overcast all day, Fallon had suggested that they raincheck, as it were, on their plans for a lake day.

Kirby had gotten out of bed without another word, after that, and hadn’t returned until Fallon had come to find her. A scowl seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her face, but Fallon was determined to evict it.

“Y’know,” she started, approaching the couch slowly like she was worried that the other woman was going to snap. “We could still… get out of the house. It’s just a little cold for bathing suits and champagne in the middle of a lake.”

Kirby shrugged, clicking the remote control a few more times. Her eyes weren’t even focusing on the screen, but rather the middle ground between, as she pretended to watch while listening to Fallon, instead.

“Or, we can stay here.” Fallon slumped down onto the couch beside her, scooting a little closer and then resting her cheek against the taller woman’s shoulder. She felt her tense up, for a moment, residual annoyance at their plans being changed reflecting as annoyance at the physical gesture, but she quickly relaxed, defeatedly resting one hand on Fallon’s knee.

“D’you want some tea?” Fallon tried, after a moment of watching more of Kirby’s incessant channel-surfing.

“Nope,” Kirby replied shortly, barely even blinking.

Fallon pouted, her expression mirroring Kirby’s in a dramatic, almost caricature-like way for a moment. 

“Kirby, come on.”

The redhead turned to look at her, finally, one eyebrow raising questioningly.

“Tell me how to make you feel better.”

“I feel fine,” the redhead huffed, turning her attention back to the television and raising the remote. Fallon swiped it from her hand, setting it aside and forcing her to pay attention once more.

“You’re pouting.”

“I’m not -” Kirby started to protest, but Fallon cut her off.

“I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Not involving cold water, I mean, but -”

“Anything?” Kirby cut her off, this time. 

Liking her odds, now, Fallon smiled hopefully and scooted a little closer, kissing the redhead’s cheek.

“Anything,” she repeated, resting her hand gently on her thigh and then beginning to toy with the hem of her pajama shorts.

Kirby’s eyes dropped to her lap, and then back to her face as she leaned closer to kiss her gently.

Squeezing her thigh with one hand and reaching for her waist with the other, Fallon closer her eyes and pulled the other woman closer to her, ready to completely lose herself before Kirby’s voice snapped her out of it.

“I want to go to the zoo.”

“What?” Opening her eyes and trying to process exactly what had just happened, Fallon frowned in confusion.

“I want to go to the zoo. Take me to the zoo?”

Fallon stared at the other woman like she’d grown a second head.

“I - okay, when I said  _ anything,  _ I sort of meant -”

“ _ Not  _ anything?” Kirby supplied helpfully, quirking an eyebrow. 

Sighing, and realizing that she was backed into a corner, Fallon closed her eyes and nodded.

“Fine. Zoo it is. Let’s go get dressed.”

* * *

Fallon had sort of expected that as soon as they walked into the gates, Kirby would have transformed back into her usual, happy self. That wasn’t the case, though, and as they waited in line,  _ ugh,  _ and headed through the security archway, Fallon found herself having to reach for Kirby’s hand to force her to keep up with the flow of traffic.

They wandered through the set-out path along the enclosures, with Kirby stopping at the plaques of information for the appropriate amount of time before staring into the cages and squinting as if she were studying, seriously.

“You wanna go into the bird exhibit?” Fallon squeezed Kirby’s hand as they walked past a massive, log-cabin-like building.

“You hate the bird exhibit,” Kirby deadpanned. 

“I do not,” Fallon insisted, nudging her arm softly with her own and seeing the tiniest hint of a smile ghost across the other woman’s face before it vanished again.

“Right, you’re  _ scared  _ of the bird exhibit.”

“I was  _ nine,  _ and it was the  _ power outage  _ that scared me,” Fallon challenged. Normally the ribbing would bring out her competitive, defensive side, but for the time being, it was about Kirby, and making her feel better. “And  _ you  _ telling me that the vultures were going to get out and eat us didn’t help.”

Kirby chuckled, and the sound of it made Fallon feel a million times lighter.

“To be fair, you’re the one who didn’t know what  _ scavenger _ meant.”

Slowing their pace, Fallon used their linked hands to gesture to the door.

“C’mon, lets do it.”

She watched as Kirby visibly considered being difficult and refusing, but ultimately decided to follow, readjusting her grip on Fallon’s hand as they stepped into the darker entrance and followed the path towards the closest lit up enclosures. 

The first couple of displays were mild. Small, sweet looking birds flitted around behind the glass, chirping contently and drawing the attention of a small gaggle of school children that were close by.

“You think they still have the kookaburra?”

Kirby glanced over at Fallon as she asked, shrugging.

“Maybe,” the redhead replied, “You mean the one that didn’t fear anything, probably including death itself?”

“That’s the one,” Fallon pulled her hand to lead her around a slower crowd of people, out of the first room and into the bigger, open enclosure.

Trees towered over them, reaching up for the glass ceiling, and making Fallon momentarily forget that they were inside. Kirby looked up, too, and frowned at the sight of the grey sky above them, outside.

“Come on,” Fallon insisted, heading towards the railing that overlooked the bases of the trees, watching various birds flit from branch to branch.

Kirby craned her head back to watch, blindly letting Fallon lead her to a clear spot for them to stand. Knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere by forcing it, Fallon let go of her hand, leaning on the railing herself and inspecting their surroundings. She’d give it another hour, and then drag Kirby back to the car to pout in the privacy of the manor.

“Kookaburra.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Fallon turned to Kirby and cocked her head to the side.

“Huh?”

“ _ Kookaburra,”  _ Kirby repeated, pointing around Fallon.

Turning to look and then jumping, Fallon bit back a yelp of surprise at the sight of the elderly, pissed-off looking bird that was perched on the open railing beside her.

Her reaction drew another stifled laugh from the redhead, and Fallon glanced over at her hopefully. Shaking her head, Kirby grabbed Fallon’s shoulders and turned her to face the rail again, warning:

“I wouldn’t turn your back on it. They’re vicious carnivores.”

“You’re making that up,” Fallon huffed, feeling a blush start to heat her face.

Kirby laughed genuinely, that time.

“I want to see something scarier. Can we go look at the lions?”

It was the first real sign of interest that Kirby had shown for the entire outing, so Fallon quickly took her hand again and nodded.

“ _ Anything  _ for you,” she insisted dramatically, smirking when Kirby rolling her eyes did nothing to cover the amused, embarrassed look on her face.

Kirby had a little more bounce in her step, after that - at least when she noticed that Fallon was watching. She pointed out the tougher-to-spot animals and listened to the staff when they explained things to the surrounding crowds, and even managed a real reaction to the newest baby monkeys when they entered the primate house.

“Y’know there’s koalas in the visiting exhibit?” Fallon asked, after they’d stopped for overpriced bottles of water at the concession stand.

Kirby stiffened, causing the brunette to laugh before she could help herself.

“D’you want to see them before we go? We’ve covered almost everything else.”

Kirby seemed to roll the idea around in her mind for a moment, but Fallon suspected that she was just trying to buy time, not wanting to look overly-enthusiastic.

“Sure.”

It wasn’t until they were actually  _ at  _ the display, behind a crowd of children pressed up against the safety barrier and waiting their turn, that Fallon broached the subject of Kirby’s mood one more time.

“Are you feeling any better?”

Kirby stiffened, again, and Fallon immediately regretted asking.

“Sure, whatever.”

Sighing defeatedly and letting it drop, Fallon stepped up when a space cleared for them at the display and chewed on her lip as she tried to locate the koalas in their enclosure. 

“We could… get something to eat after this,” Kirby suggested, placing her hand on top of Fallon’s against the railing. It was an obvious olive branch, and Fallon accepted it eagerly.

“Sure, wherever you want.” Fallon looked at the glass again, then pointed. “There’s one.”

“I’m sorry for being shitty.” Kirby nearly cut her off, startling her.

“You - what?”

“Today,” Kirby explained, pointedly not looking in Fallon’s direction. She steeled her gaze straight ahead, her fingers tensing. “I just - I know I haven’t been in a great mood. Thank you for doing this, with me.”

Fallon softened, frowning a little, and then twisting her hand to capture the redhead’s in her own.

“I feel bad we had to cancel our plans.”

“No, it’s not -”

Kirby’s voice shook, almost imperceptibly, and she stopped talking abruptly.

“Hey…” Fallon frowned even more, glancing around to make sure that no one was crowding too closely to them, and trying to get Kirby to turn to her. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve just been…” Kirby tightened her mouth into a thin line and stayed very stiffly still for a moment, before continuing. “I’m happy to be back. In Atlanta, in the manor, I just - I’m still adjusting. And I shouldn’t  _ have  _ to, because it’s not like any of this is  _ new -” _

“Kirby,” Fallon cut her off gently. “Are you homesick?”

Obviously her choice of words had hit the nail on the head, because the redhead suddenly gripped her hand, clenching her jaw and squinting at the middle ground - the glass of the display instead of into the actual enclosure itself. 

“Maybe,” she finally answered after a moment, her voice thick. Accidentally making her cry in public wasn’t a part of Fallon’s agenda for the day, so she reeled it in, linking their arms together. “But I shouldn’t be.”

“Of course you can be,” Fallon chided quietly. “Ten years is a long time.”

Sighing shakily and seeming to get a grip, Kirby shook her head a little and then her shoulders, as if physically dislodging the sadness.

“Right,” she agreed, “but  _ you’re  _ home, now.”

Fallon’s breath caught in her throat and she immediately reached for the other woman, cupping the side of her face and turning her to kiss her. It was very simple, and brief - they were in public, after all - but it seemed to convey the message. Smiling as she pulled away, Kirby visibly relaxed, taking Fallon’s other hand as well.

“So… what will help. Do we plan a trip, or…?”

Kirby laughed sarcastically.

“Oh, no. I’m not taking  _ you  _ to meet all of my considerably cooler Australian friends.” She was teasing, so Fallon played along, dropping her jaw and swatting at the redhead who only laughed in response. 

Kirby’s smile faded as they watched a child walk by with his parents, clutching a stuffed koala under one arm.

“Ooh! In the meantime, you could buy me a gift shop koala.” 

The way that Kirby’s eyes lit up in a combination of mischief and genuine excitement made Fallon’s mocking protest die in her throat.

“Fine.”


	12. neck

“Look, I’m fully aware that I said that we’re new and resources are limited, but I need these binder-bound for next time, am I clear?”

Kirby glanced up from her spot on the office floor, watching Fallon berate one of the interns in the doorway, holding out a stack of press-release packets in her arms.

“Do it again, do it right.”

Pushing the heavy-looking pile into the intern’s arms and all but closing the door in their face, Fallon shook her shoulders and arms out, exhaling heavily. Kirby half-expected her to continue her complaining to the redhead’s audience, instead, but she simply turned and marched back over to her desk, swiping her phone and clipboard from its surface.

As she headed back toward the door, she paused, taking in the sight of Kirby with all of her papers spread out around her in a messy semi-circle on the hard wood.

“I promise,” Kirby assured her, “there’s a method to this madness.”

She smiled slightly, trying to somehow mentally communicate that everything was fine - at least the half of the everything that Kirby was responsible for - and that she didn’t need to feel so stressed out. Most days she couldn’t tell if it was her increasingly-difficult-to-squash crush on the other woman or just a natural sense of empathy that was making her feel so sorry for Fallon.

Expecting Fallon to leave her to it, Kirby was surprised when the brunette suddenly pulled one of the throw pillows from the closest chair and tossed it onto the floor, lowering herself onto it and crossing her legs uncomfortably.

“You’re sure you have all of this under control?”

“Yes, Fallon,” Kirby insisted, trying to keep the tiredness out of her tone. “You don’t need to micromanage me. This is easy, just… messy.”

Fallon sat quietly for a moment, then sighed heavily, again, causing Kirby to glance up from where she was trying to alphabetize one of the smaller piles of papers.

“What, Fallon?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you didn’t, but you went-” Kirby sighed heavily, mimicking the other woman, then turned her attention back to her work as she awaited an answer.

“Just tired,” Fallon explained. “This day feels two weeks long.”

“That’s fair,” Kirby conceded, sliding the papers nearest to her back into the pile with a little more aggression than necessary. The tiny print in the low lighting of the office was beginning to make her eyes hurt, and she knew she’d need to take a break sooner rather than later. “Did you want a coffee, or something?”

Standing up, she felt Fallon’s eyes follow her toward the bar cart.

“No, I think I’m getting dehydrated.”

Kirby glanced back in time to see Fallon press her fingers to her cheeks, then her forehead, frowning.

“Probably all of the caffeine,” she suggested, though she did make sure she grabbed a bottle of water as she finished filling up a mug of coffee for herself.

“Maybe,” Fallon sighed, glancing up as Kirby approached with the water and cleared her throat. “Oh.”

Setting it aside, and rolling her neck, Fallon reached for one of the abandoned piles of papers, looking up in alarm when Kirby swiped it from her hand.

“No, no. This is  _ my  _ task,” she chided.

“Well let me help,” Fallon insisted, ignoring the other woman and reaching for another pile, instead. “I’m going to blow my brains out if I have to keep being bad cop with those idiotic college interns.”

Snorting in disbelief, Kirby watched as the brunette rolled her shoulders again, and then scooted back and forth on the floor-cushion to get more comfortable.

“You need a massage?”

“Not an unprofessional one,” Fallon replied lightly as she focused on one of the sheets in her hands. “If that was an offer.”

“It wasn’t, but now I’m insulted.” Kirby sunk down to the floor beside her, pushing her sleeves back and then beckoning the other woman closer with two fingers from each hand. “C’mon.”

“You’re overestimating how badly I -” Fallon cut herself off with a low groan, tightening her shoulders up as Kirby grabbed one of them gently and pressed her fingers into the middle of the blade of it.

Chuckling, the redhead shook her head and let her go, gesturing at her dismissively. 

“Take your jacket off. This won’t take a minute.”

“No, I’m okay,” Fallon insisted, glancing at her and then quickly dropping her gaze back to the pages splayed out in front of them. “Seriously, this is far beyond the confines of your job description.”

“Good thing I’m doing this as a good friend, not a good employee, then,” Kirby replied, watching as Fallon visibly considered whether or not to comment on the assumption. She mercifully bit back whatever snarky comment she was clearly considering making, and then, to Kirby’s surprise, leaned forward and shrugged her arms out of her jacket to set it aside on the chair that they’d both decided to ignore in favour of the floor.

Reaching out for her again, Kirby wrapped both hands around her shoulders and stopped, frozen for a moment.

This was probably the most that they’d ever touched -  _ ever.  _ Even as kids, their on and off friendship hadn’t been overtly physical, and while the offer to try to relieve some of the obvious tension the other woman was carrying had been entirely innocent, it certainly felt less innocent now that she was in the middle of it.

She realized she’d been still a moment too long when Fallon cleared her throat expectantly, and tried to get to work, going through the motions. It felt almost predatory to be touching her at all, when she didn’t know how she felt about all of it. She’d been through enough, over the last several months, though, and Kirby was doing her a favour by not bombarding her with her own confusing feelings.

The brunette let out a tiny content sigh, dropping her head forward when Kirby’s fingers found a specifically tough knot, and she felt her cheeks immediately flush a hot red.

If Fallon had even the slightest inkling about how she felt, she probably wouldn’t be in this position.

“I’m reconsidering adding this to your job description,” Fallon told her. It was a rare compliment, and her voice sounded unsure. It made Kirby realize how long they’d been sitting quietly, and that the compliment was more likely just an awkward attempt to fill the conversational void, rather than genuine.

“I’ll need a raise,” Kirby replied, smiling a little in spite of her previous train of thought. “Seriously, you’re one giant knot, don’t you have a spa or something you can go to?”

“I haven’t been in a long time,” the brunette admitted. “Busy.”

Kirby only hummed in response, reaching up and gently gathering Fallon’s hair into her hair to slide it aside and continue her path of breaking up tension towards the back of her neck.

A wave of perfume clouded her senses for a moment before vanishing so quickly that Kirby was sure that she imagined it. Letting go of the other woman’s hair, she slid both hands up and pressed her thumbs carefully on either side of her spine at the base of her neck, and then a number of things happened.

Firstly, it was as if every single knot and point of tension that Kirby had just worked out of the other woman reappeared at once, causing her to shrug her shoulders up and tense into herself, as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

Secondly, Kirby’s remaining fingers trailed simultaneously into her hair at the action, causing an instant noise of concerned protest to escape Fallon’s lips.

Thirdly, Fallon’s hand reflexively slapped down to Kirby’s thigh, bent comfortably beside her, with a resounding  _ SLAP  _ sound, and dug in.

“I - sorry.” 

Fallon had practically locked her hands in place with her head cocked back, so Kirby stayed absolutely still for a moment as the other woman seemed to scramble to figure out exactly what had just happened.

“Um…” She slowly loosened her shoulders, lowering her head to look down at the other woman’s leg, which she was still holding in an iron grip. “Sorry. I think you hit a nerve.”

“Should I stop?”

It was catastrophically tense for a moment.

“No,” Fallon’s voice was so quiet that it was barely louder than a whisper. “Um. Yes. Yeah, I feel better. Thank you.”

It was unbearably quiet and still until Fallon stood up, grabbing her water bottle and cranking the lid off of it to take several long sips before she spoke again.

“I’ll uh… go check on those press binders. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Kirby promised, before stopping to think about what exactly she was implying.

They stared at each other for another beat before Fallon turned on her heel and headed for the door.

“Sorry, again,” Fallon’s words startled Kirby, but by the time she glanced up to ask for her to clarify, she was gone.


	13. separation anxiety

“Shh, shh…” Fallon clutched the sobbing baby in her arms to her chest and tried not to bounce her too roughly, despite her stress trying to physically manifest itself. “I know, I know… ugh, where _ is _she?”

Crying so hard she almost choked, the baby coughed roughly for a few moments, before screaming again and gripping at a lock of Fallon’s hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. She let her, ignoring the itchy feeling in her scalp at the none-too-gentle tugging, and sighed heavily as the crying dulled to a sad whimpering.

Fallon’s phone on the table chirped, and she slowly lowered herself into a squat to see the screen without disturbing the bundle in her arms. 

_ ‘Hey, just got out of baggage check - we’re going to grab a drink so I can stretch my legs. Home soon. Love u. Give Saskia a kiss for me.’ _

Blinking back frustrated tears of her own, Fallon swiped the phone up and tried to type as best she could with one thumb. She gave up a moment later, tossing the phone onto the couch and wandering into the bedroom. 

A quick fix was usually a piece of the other woman’s clothing, but housekeeping had emptied the hampers and done the laundry the day before, not giving Fallon a chance to save any. Gently lowering Saskia onto the center of the bed and wincing as her crying renewed itself tenfold, Fallon quickly grabbedKirby’s perfume from the vanity and spritzed a little on her chest, ignoring the way her eyes watered at the cloying spicy-sweetness of it. 

“Okay, okay, I know, I miss her too.” Picking the baby up again quickly, Fallon pulled her into her chest and rocked her slowly as she waited for her to relax. 

Sniffling sadly and then burying her face into the side of Fallon’s neck, Saskia fell quiet rather abruptly, letting out just a few last-ditch effort whimpers as if she thought that her go-to method of getting her way was going to make Kirby magically appear.

“Hey, look at that,” Fallon mumbled, kissing the top of her head before finger-combing through her messy, baby-fine locks. “You cried and I didn’t. I told you I’d work on that.” 

She was awe-inspiringly quiet, now, loosening her grip on the piece of hair that she had been holding hostage to curl her tiny fingers around Fallon’s collarbone instead, plucking curiously at her skin and letting out a small huff of frustration when it didn’t immediately give way.

“That was a pretty good trick, right?” Hiking the baby up a little higher, Fallon leaned back and dipped her head to try to catch her eye. “I’m not just a pretty face.” 

“You’re really the brains of the operation, huh?”

Kirby’s voice startled both of them, and Saskia’s calm mood immediately vanished to make room for her frantic squirming and grunting to reach for the other woman. When Fallon’s arms didn’t immediately give way, she burst into tears again, screaming so loudly that even Kirby winced away from them.

“Whoa. What’s all that?” Coming closer and holding her arms out as the baby tried to apparently fling herself out of Fallon’s grasp, Kirby scooped her up and pulled her close. “Why are you screaming at me, hm?”

“Not _ at _ you, _ for _you.” Fallon couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of her tone as her arms fell limply at her sides, feeling numb and heavy now that they weren’t being used for holding their crying daughter for the last several, almost uninterrupted, hours. 

“Oh my goodness, well I missed you too!” Kirby’s voice had turned sickly sweet, and she used one thumb to wipe both of her tiny cheeks before kissing them both and adjusting her in her arms. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you still pouting?”

Maneuvering out of her jacket and letting it drop to the bedroom floor without setting down the baby, Kirby hiked her up and took a deep breath before smothering the side of her face with kisses, complete with faux-growling sounds until Saskia’s giggling turned into a sustained shriek. 

Fallon cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, pausing when Kirby glanced up at her.

“I’m sorry, are you feeling left out?”

“No, I just -”

“C’mere.”

Not giving the brunette the proper chance to back away, Kirby used her free arm to anchor her closer by the waist, gently squishing their still-laughing daughter between them as she repeated the gesture into the side of her wife’s neck, with a considerably less-playful undertone.

“Kirby -” Choking off a laugh, Fallon twisted away, grabbing her free hand and trying to rearrange her features into a pout. “I thought you were getting a drink.”

“I changed my mind, I wanted to get home to you two.” Kirby mirrored her pout, though much more dramatically. “I can go back out, if you want.”

“NO!” Feeling herself panicking at the thought of being left alone with the screaming baby yet again, after _ just _finally getting back to quiet, Fallon squeezed her hand and pulled her closer again.

“It’s nice to know you missed me, too.” Kirby hummed, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

Saskia shrieked, one tiny hand coming up to push Fallon’s cheek, incoherent protests streaming out of her until Kirby pulled back to give her a bewildered look.

“Oh yeah, not only have we spent the weekend exploring the fun experience of separation anxiety,” Fallon sighed, nodding slowly, “We’re moving onto the discovery of jealousy.”

“She gets that from you,” Kirby whispered playfully, grabbing Saskia’s hand gently and pretending to gnaw on her fingers until the angry expression left her face and was replaced with excited curiosity once more.

_ “Ha-ha.” _Fallon rolled her eyes, “It’s been like this the entire time, by the way. I’m feeling a little underappreciated, here.” 

Kirby turned towards the door and started to head out, chuckling to herself.

“I’m going to put her to bed, and then I can show _you _how much I missed you and just how appreciated you are.” 

Crossing her arms, Fallon considered keeping up the pouting but ultimately decided against it, swiping Kirby’s jacket from the floor and tossing it onto the chaise before beginning to peel off her own layers, diving under the covers of the bed.


	14. werewolf

“Do you always go for walks in the dark by yourself?”

“ _ Do you? _ ” Fallon throwing Kirby’s own question back at her almost stopped her in her tracks.

“I come prepared,” Kirby replied after a beat, continuing to hurry her steps until she was beside the other woman, then slowed down to fall into step beside her. Her fingers toyed with the mace in her pocket, reminding herself that it was there.

“So do I,” Fallon replied, not saying anything about Kirby inviting herself to join her. “I’m actually a little insulted that you would think I wouldn’t - you know better than that.”

Kirby’s throat felt like it closed up, but she continued to play dumb.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen the gun room.”

“Right,” Kirby breathed, turning to look at the other woman, and convincing herself that she only imagined the sly smirk that ghosted over her features before vanishing once more.

The pair of them walked quietly for another moment, before Kirby opened her mouth to speak again.

“Did you guys figure -”

“ _ Ugh,  _ Kirby. What part of ‘quiet walk to clear my head’ did you not understand?” Fallon rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, but continued walking.

Kirby waited a beat, then continued: “Did you guys figure out what was going on with the… coyote problem?”

Her eyes drifted to a single rabbit leg - which Fallon kicked out of the way with her  _ Layer-0  _ hiking boots as if they were inexpensive off-the-rack throwaways - bloodied and abandoned in the middle of the path.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Fallon dismissed.

“I didn’t say I was worried,” Kirby pointed out. “Just curious.”

  
  


“Well, you know what they say about curiosity.”

Fallon’s words sent an uncomfortable chill down her spine, and just as she stopped to turn to her properly, her father’s voice interrupted, and startled her.

“Kirby, I think it’s time you go back inside.”

Both women turned, but Fallon started to head back, first.

“It’s late.” Anders’ voice carried past Kirby and into the trees behind her, his body backlit by the lights from the yard further past him.

“I know.”

“Come in. We should talk.”

* * *

“I’m right, aren't I?” Kirby tried to keep the derisive tone from her voice, but it was impossible. “If that's really why you sent me away, you should have thought it through a little better, at least. I'm sure they were thrilled to be rid of me only to have me pop back in with…  _ training _ and… and…  _ this _ .”

Kirby slapped one hand down on the top of the crossbow that rested on the table between them, gasping when the trigger snapped and clicked loudly.

Her father had emptied it, moments earlier, though and the unloaded bow sat harmlessly and silently between them.

“I’m not thrilled about the crossbow, either.” Anders admitted. “How exactly did you get it past customs?”

“I didn't,” Kirby replied coolly, crossing her arms. “It was here for me - mom told me where to find it.”

“Kirby, there are real-world consequences to your actions, here. This isn't some fantasy novel.. you're talking about  _ people.  _ With friends and business colleagues and legitimate influence.”

“ _ Legitimate _ ,” Kirby scoffed. “I’m sure there was absolutely no supernatural influence in the success of the Carrington dynasty. Though, I suppose this all does put a sort of fun twist on  _ The Wolf of Wall Street.” _

“That's enough.”

Anders stern, sharp tone made the redhead fall into silence, and the look on his face kept her there.

A sound outside of the door stole both of their attention, and Anders held one hand up in gesture for her to stay put.

“This conversation isn't over. Stay away from everyone in the meantime.”

Crossing the room and passing her, Anders opened the door a crack and spoke softly to who Kirby had to assume was another member of the staff before sending them on their way.

“Dad?” she asked meekly. “How… deep does all of this go? What about Sam? Cristal?”

His face fell a little, and he opened the door. 

“We’ll talk in the morning. Get some sleep.”

“You know that I won't,” she sighed, watching him leave.

* * *

“Someone forgot her  _ Ambien,”  _ Fallon greeted, taking in Kirby’s exhausted appearance as she wandered into the dining room.

“I’m glad to see that waning moon has you feeling so chipper.”

“Kirby’s an astrology weirdo,” Fallon explained. “Can you tell me which parts of my portfolio I should sell this week?”

Only then did Kirby notice Sam, sitting across from Fallon at the table.

“It doesn't work like that,” Kirby huffed, taking a seat a few chairs down from Sam. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to sit with them, but from the moment she'd entered the room it was like her bad mood had lifted. It always felt like that, with Fallon, even when they were kids - even when she was being awful.

“I don't care,” Fallon waved a hand, but said nothing about her joining them. “I have to focus on Monica’s club opening - you'll be there, right?” 

The brunette had invited Sam, not Kirby, but she still made a mental note. 

“I need to go. You want this?”

Fallon stood up and slid her plate across the table, with the few remains of her uneaten bacon on it. 

Kirby followed her with her eyes as she crossed the room, and left, and then felt the exhaustion she’d woken up with returning to her in a massive wave. 

“Here. You don't look so good.” Sam offered her the plate, but she waved it away.

“I think I just need to lay down.”

  
She passed under the stairs as Fallon started to ascend them, already chattering away into her phone and barking orders. The light feeling returned to her chest but she squashed it, rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness and turning to head down to her own room, instead. It was a childhood crus h - one she’d assumed she’d grown out it - but it was harmless. She wasn't  _ blind _ , Fallon was… pretty. She had appeal, she always had. And it didn't change anything about who she was, or what Fallon was.

* * *

“God, you're hot.”

“Thank you,” Fallon breathed, smiling.

“ _ No _ \- I mean hot as in  _ warm _ . Oh my god, Fallon.” Kirby shakily brought her hands up to rest on the other woman’s shoulders, her palms and fingers flooding with warmth at the touch.

She was a little embarrassed at how easily Fallon had pinned her to the cellar hallway wall, but that sheepishness gave way to make room for quiet awe, now, instead.

“Don't sneak up on me. I take a self defense class.” Fallon let her go, as if their closeness, the way she'd just been so near the other woman she was tickling her ear with her voice, was commonplace between them.

“There's no one else here, and I know that _you_ _know_ that I know.” Kirby pressed her foot against her dropped backpack at her feet, feeling the weight of its contents. 

Glancing back at her, where she’d begun to walk away, Fallon raised an eyebrow. Her expression lacked playfulness, now.

“So what?”

Startled by the admission, Kirby reached for her bag, but Fallon was quicker.

“Aw,” she clicked her tongue as she dug through the contents. “Is all this for me? Or  _ was _ it all for me, I should say.”

Letting the empty bag drop as she held fast to the length of heavy wrought iron chain, Fallon turned the links over in her hands and then glanced up at the redhead again smugly.

“Well, gee, now I’m embarrassed. I’m a little more vanilla than you've clearly pegged me for.”

The chains clinked together as Fallon adjusted her grip and trailed her fingers towards the shiny cuffed ends.

“Wait, Fallon, don’t t-”

Kirby’s warning came a moment too late as the brunette yelped in shock and loudly dropped the chains to the floor, gripping the ends of her fingers tightly and wincing.

“-  _ touch that _ ,” Kirby finished lamely, sighing as she dropped to the floor to begin shoving the chains back into her backpack.

“What the fuck?” Fallon breathed.

“They're silver-lined,” Kirby explained, standing back up to her full height. She didn't know if it was the wounded puppy look on Fallon’s face or some kind of weird magical influence, but Kirby felt a massive surge of sympathy, despite her intentions, and reached out to take her burnt hand. “Let me see.”

“Why did you come back?” Fallon asked, quiet as she watched Kirby examine the angry red marks on the ends of her fingers.

Kirby didn't answer, dropping her hand finally and then looking up to meet her eye.

“Let me help you. And I’m not asking, I’m telling - if you don't, I’m going to tell.”

“Who?” Fallon snorted, the softness vanishing from her face and being replaced with sarcastic annoyance. “ _ The World News _ ? Fallon Carrington is a lycanthrope - also, Batboy is making a comeback!”

“I have more family. And colleagues.”

Kirby’s words hung in the air between the two women for a moment, before Fallon shook her head.

“No, you wouldn't do that to your dad.”

“I wouldn't?”

“No,” Fallon hummed, crossing her arms. “You're too nice. You have no power here. Not unless you're planning to kill me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“That's what I thought.”

“So, lets compromise,” Kirby tried. She shook the backpack softly, and Fallon’s eyes darted from her face down to it.

“That's pretty archaic, don't you think? Besides, I just burned the shit out of myself, why would I let you stick those on me?”

“They don't need to be silver,” Kirby admitted. “That was just… for added pettiness. We can find something that works.”

“What are you two talking about?”

Blake’s voice startled both of them, but before Kirby could try to come up with a lie, Fallon answered.

“Nothing - in fact, Kirby was just leaving.”

Something about the pleading look on Fallon’s face made the redhead’s protest die in her throat. She hiked her bag up as carefully as she could to avoid jangling the chains together and slid past Blake carefully towards the stairs.

* * *

“Your dad doesn't know that  _ you're _ the coyote problem, does he?”

Clearly, Kirby’s words startled the other woman, who jumped in her seat and whirled around to glare at her. Fallon wasn't easy to sneak up on - a fact that made her obvious distraction a little worrisome.

“No.”

The tired honesty was worrisome, too. Kirby pulled Fallon’s bedroom door closed behind herself and made her way over to the bed, perching delicately on the side of it beside the other woman.

“He’d be pissed if he knew.”

“I assumed so,” Kirby sighed. “So why don't you -”

“What, tell him that I don't actually have a coping strategy? I'm not going back to our weird family-night full moon slumber parties. It's bad enough being around them on a good day.”

Trying not to smile, Kirby reached over and plucked up Fallon’s hand, turning it over to examine her previous burn.

“Why does it look like that?” the brunette asked, making a disgusted face at the sight of the blisters.

“Because when you get burned, you're supposed to cool the area. Heat makes it worse.” Fallon’s hand was extremely warm, cradled in her own. “That's why I brought this.”

Reaching down for the cold water bottle she’d brought, Kirby pressed it softly against the other woman’s fingers and blushed when she tilted her head back, letting out a soft relieved groan in reaction.

“You do need management skills,” Kirby prodded, and the two of them paused to consider the irony of the statement. “You don't have to like it - or me - but I’m offering you a pretty good deal. Better than most get.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

Fallon’s question blindsided her, but she didn't answer.

“Have you?”

Surprisingly comfortable quiet fell over the room, before Kirby spoke again.

“How's that?” she pulled the bottle away to examine the burn, and was pleased to see that a little of the redness had already vanished.

“Better. Thank you.” 

Fallon caught her eye, and in the next moment, Kirby wasn't sure which of them leaned in first.

The added heat - real heat - to the kiss made Kirby feel almost dizzy, or drunk, closing her eyes and arching closer to the other woman before lucidity hit and she wrenched away.

“No. No, we can't, um - that complicates this.”

“This is already pretty complicated,” Fallon pointed out, her impatience clear in her voice.

“No.” Standing up, Kirby grabbed her bag and headed for the door, blindly pointing back. “Keep icing that.” 

“Kirby,” Fallon groaned. “Kirby, lets -”

“ _ No _ .”

Slipping out the door and shutting it as gently as possible in spite of the adrenaline spiking up and down her arms and fingers, Kirby leaned against it for a moment and caught her breath, before regaining her composure and heading down the hall. 


	15. mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'please give me a sequel to neck... collarbone? lips? I NEED IT'

“Yes, I can have that to you first thing Monday morning,” Fallon clutched her phone between her shoulder and ear, scrambling around for a pen. The gold flaked cup beside her computer monitor was empty - again - and Fallon knew exactly who the culprit was. Hanging up the call and marching over to Kirby’s vacant work area - which had shifted from the other desk, to the floor, to now the couch, she grabbed one of her missing pens from the top of an abandoned pile of paperwork and sighed.

Just as she turned to return to her own desk, Kirby walked in, pausing in the doorway with her fresh coffee clutched in her hand.

“What?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to put my pens back? Or better yet, not steal them in the first place?”

Kirby snorted, closing the door behind herself and shaking her head in amusement.

“It’s a pen.”

“They’re custom-monogrammed!” Fallon insisted, shaking the utensil in question at the redhead. “And you chewed the end up like some kind of caffeine-buzzed koala!”

Coming closer and taking the pen out of Fallon’s hand, Kirby examined the butt of it and then hummed.

“Guess I’ll keep this one, then?”

“And what is with the coffee? That’s your third one and it’s not even noon.”

“I told you, I haven’t been smoking,” Kirby pointed out, popping the pen between her teeth seemingly unconsciously. 

Reaching over, Fallon pulled the pen away from her and frowned, wiping it on her leg in disgust.

“That’s bad for your teeth. Stop eating my pens, and stop taking coffee breaks.”

“Fine, shit.” Kirby held her free hand up in surrender, and then headed back to her earlier abandoned work to continue with it.

They worked quietly for a short while, with only the occasional question popping up between them about details, and Kirby finally got up to retrieve what Fallon had to assume would be yet another coffee refill.

“Ah ah. Sit down.” Pointing back at the couch and then snapping her fingers, Fallon glared at the other woman until she pouted and returned to her seat, digging in her purse for a piece of gum, instead.

Kirby was surprisingly calm for someone who had just had as much caffeine as she had, and Fallon found herself relaxing just by watching her work without realizing. 

“Why did you quit smoking?” She finally asked.

“It’s bad for the baby,” Kirby replied, not looking up from her page. Fallon choked on thin air.

“What?”

Glancing up and smiling slyly, before turning to the page once more, Kirby shook her head.

“I’m kidding. Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers.”

Rolling her eyes, Fallon huffily straightened her own stack of papers.

“Well excuse me for trying to take an interest in -”

“What, my health? First my teeth, now my lungs. Is this just you checking on how I’m going to use my benefits package?”

“Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m the one quitting smoking,” Kirby pointed out, snapping her gum for emphasis. “Why are  _ you  _ so cranky?”

Dropping her gaze, Fallon shook her head.

“I’m not.”

The conversation dropped, and Kirby snapped her gum one more time, as if tempting the other woman to become annoyed again, then went back to work.

Except now, Fallon couldn't stop watching her.

Innocently as ever, she snapped her gum - quieter, this time, a real one, not an intentional annoyance - and then rolled it over her tongue before sitting up straighter and reaching blindly for her empty coffee cup.

She had to admit that it was impressive to watch Kirby actually manage what were clearly intense cravings - intense enough to have her chewing on the paper rim of her coffee cup as she read the pages in front of her. Unaware that she was being watched, she bent the brim of the cup and then let go of it, holding it between her teeth as she moved a page aside and signed the one beneath it with her free hand, before grabbing it once more and setting it aside. 

It was becoming increasingly distracting, watching as Kirby reached over and grabbed yet another pen, popping it into her mouth and pursing her lips around it when she fell deeper into thought.

It felt almost a little voyeuristic, really, knowing that Kirby hadn’t looked up once but Fallon hadn’t been able to maintain a single coherent stream of thought after watching her pull the pen from her mouth, her gum sticking to the end and pulling into a thin string that she followed with her tongue before biting down on the pen once again.

“Kirby,” she cleared her throat, startling both herself and the other woman.

“What?” she’d dropped the pen - Fallon hadn’t even noticed - too in her own thoughts.

“You’re… doing it again. With the pen.”

She’d said it for her own benefit. She wasn’t going to get anything done at all if the other woman didn’t stop putting things in her mouth and distracting her from her own work, which was  _ definitely  _ much more important than whatever clerical task that Kirby was still finishing up.

“That really bugs you, huh?”

The stupid lips and teeth that she hadn’t been able to stop staring at a moment earlier broke into a small, sly smile, widening when Fallon could feel a blush heating her cheeks - one that Kirby could obviously see from where she was sitting.

“What is it, the sound? One of those weird tactile things like watching someone chew ice?”

Kirby stood, coming closer to the desk and then tossing her cup into the trash beside it.

“It’s gross.”

“Mm.” Kirby nodded slowly in understanding, then, much to Fallon’s horror, rolled her lips and blew a small bubble with her gum. 

It popped with a satisfying snap, deflating against the other woman’s still-parted lips, and Fallon was convinced that the world had transitioned into slow-motion while she watched Kirby peel the gum away from her lips and lick the remainder of it from her fingers.

The redhead took a step back from the desk, and only then did Fallon realize that she had leapt out of her seat to stand up at some point, without giving her body permission to do so.

“You good?”

“I need coffee. I’ll get you another one.” 

Kirby grabbed the garbage can she’d just thrown her cup into, and unceremoniously spat her gum into it. Feeling giddily relieved, Fallon cleared her throat one last time, trying to regain some composure, and made her way to the door.

“One sugar, please!~” Kirby called after her, and for once, she couldn’t bring herself to come up with a single snarky comeback.


	16. soccer moms

“You’re late,” Kirby mumbled through a tense smile, leaning in sideways to make room on the bench for her wife, as she came skidding in her heels to a halt beside her.

“I know,” Fallon practically panted, collapsing down onto the hard bench without her usual disgusted pre-sitting wipe down with a bleach soaked  _ WetOne _ . “How’s she doing?”

Turning her attention to the indoor field that they were perched in front of, instead, Fallon squinted as she tried to make out their daughter in the bustle of small children running back and forth on the rubber mats.

Kirby nudged her softly and pointed to the opposite side of the field, where Saskia’s head just barely poked up over the side of the railing.

“What, on the bench?”

Kirby snorted.

“They don’t  _ bench  _ them, Fallon. They’re five. She wanted to wait until you were here.”

Turning to face Kirby with a dramatic - but sincere pout, Fallon set her purse down and stood up, hopping up and down and waving across the field to get the girl’s attention. Kirby watched as their daughter’s attention shifted from watching her teammates chasing the ball back and forth to seeing Fallon flailing in the corner of her eye, and her entire face brightened.

She grabbed her coach by the jersey, pulling his watchful eye from the other players down to the small blonde in front of him, who pointed frantically at Fallon and then danced on the spot as the gate to the bench was opened to let her out. Saskia nearly fell over herself to run onto the field after the ball, joining what Kirby would only be able to describe as the most adorable stampede she’d ever seen.

“It’s her first actual game, Fallon,” Kirby chastised gently as Fallon returned to her seat. “I told you, eleven o’ clock. This is important.”

“I’m  _ sorry _ ,” the other woman hissed back, smiling despite her tone and then waving at Saskia as she ran past. “I was on my way when I got the call back from Walker, and I didn’t want to get into an accident.”

Kirby watched as Saskia cornered the ball and then took off running, nearly tripping over her own shoes - still a little too big - before righting herself. Fallon’s words almost went in one ear and out the other before she froze, turning to her with wide eyes.

“ _ And?” _

“Oh, did you -” Fallon gestured between them for a moment, “Did you want to know? I wasn’t sure if - see I thought you were still mad at me, for being late, and I -”

Knowing she wasn’t going to risk getting dirty by squirming around on the public bench, Kirby pursed her lips in concentration and reached out for the other woman, prodding at her ribs and then squeezing the hellishly ticklish spot above her knee when she tried to arch away.

Squealing in protest, Fallon pried at her fingers and laughed, caving with no fight.

“ _ Okay! Okay!”  _

Kirby relented, letting the other woman regain a little composure while another group of mothers seated nearby shushed them.

“Everything was fine. We can bring her by next week, let her get a feel for it, see if its a good fit.”

“Do you think it will be?” Kirby asked, glancing at Fallon again before turning her attention back to the field.

“I think so,” Fallon mused, calm and confident. “I just need her out of the house… no offence. Does that make me a bad mother?”

Kirby laughed softly, shaking her head.

“No, it’ll be good to let her blow off some steam. Besides, she’s too smart for us.”

Fallon chuckled.

“That is true.”

The coach blew his whistle, signalling a water break, and Saskia came running across to the pair of them excitedly. Pulling her water bottle out of her bag, Kirby handed it to her before she could open her mouth to start talking, knowing she wouldn’t stop until the break ended.

Taking the distraction, Saskia leaned into Fallon’s knees and chugged from the bottle while her mom brushed a thumb over her red cheeks and then began to readjust her messy ponytail for her.

The five year old was rarely at a loss for words, but Kirby was still in awe of how well she and Fallon seemed to silently communicate with each other all of the time. 

Finally pulling the bottle from her face with a gasp for air, Saskia messily shoved it back into the top of Kirby’s bag and then grabbed her hands excitedly to jump up and down.

“Did you see? I got an  _ assist.” _

She mis-enunciated the word, causing Fallon to snort in amusement but quickly cover it up with a bright smile when their daughter turned to her, instead.

“Did you see?”

“I did!” Fallon nodded, reaching over and adjusting her nylon soccer shorts that had become so skewed they were almost a skirt. “You were so fast.”

“I’m the fastest except for Claire.” Saskia bragged, eyes lighting up when Kirby tugged a ziploc bag of crackers from her bag as subtly as possible. In the spirit of equality, snacks were generally a team-provided sort of thing, and while Saskia was not well-known for being much of a steel-trap for secrets, she could usually keep them fairly well if it meant preserving her ability for contraband  _ Goldfish  _ crackers.

“Well I’m sure Claire is just -”

“Fallon.” Kirby wasn’t even sure what her wife was going to say, but knew that it wouldn’t have been anything she’d want repeated.

Falling quiet and heeding the warning, Fallon finished her adjustments and watched as Saskia crammed all of the Goldfish she could fit into her mouth at once.

“I’m o- -as-”

“Saskia,” Fallon shook her head, leaning away to narrowly avoid projectile crumbs shooting out of the girl’s mouth while she spoke. “Don’t be gross.”

Her playfully-harsh words made the girl giggle, covering her mouth with both hands to avoid anymore crumb-spraying, and she turned to Kirby to reach for the bag again.

“Ah ah,” Kirby ignored her pouting and tossed the crackers back into her purse, offering her the water again. “After.”

She sent her on her way back to her team, huddling in the middle of the field, and then glanced over as Fallon’s phone rang.

They made eye contact for a moment, and then Fallon tucked it away after muting it.

“You don’t need to get that?”

“Nah,” Fallon shook her head, scooting a little closer on the bench and pressing her knee against her wife’s in a tiny, subtle gesture of affection. “This is more important.”


	17. dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Could you possibly write something with more upbeat less-inhibited Fallon? I know she's rare but I am soft for her" combined with "Dress"

“Oh come on,” Fallon whines, pulling Kirby’s hands and nearly toppling over herself in her effort to pull the redhead to her feet.

“You’re stoned.”

“You’re… very pretty. And probably right.” Fallon tugs at her hands again, the grin on her face coming easily. “Do this with me and I’ll never ever ever ask you for anything ever again, ever.”

Kirby sighs, and hates the way Fallon’s eyes light up at the sound of it. She’s got her wrapped around her finger, and she knows it. The least she could do would be pretend not to be so smug.

“No,” she tries again.

Fallon collapses into the sand beside her, coming closer to rest her cheek on her arm.

“I’ll remember this, the next time you get all annoyed that I never want to do anything spontaneous.”

Her warning is playful, but it does make Kirby pause for a moment. It’s true that this particular Fallon is an insanely far cry from the one she’s with on a usual day-to-day basis. She loves them both.

This Fallon is much more reminiscent of her younger self. Even when Kirby was only twelve, she was enraptured by how cool and unconcerned Fallon could be, with the right audience - sneaking scotch and bragging about test-driving the cars behind her parents’ backs when the chauffeur let her. She was like a god to Kirby, back then, even through their fighting.

“Maybe I just wanted to sit on the beach with my girlfriend, did you ever think about that?” Kirby asks, trying to turn it back on her. Fallon pulls away enough to look at her, and grins again. Even through her own relatively smoke-induced haze, Kirby feels like she’s seeing her for the first time, again.

“That’s very romantic, you sap.”

“Oh, shut up.” Kirby pushes her shoulder softly, and Fallon bobs back into place, laughing quietly as she squeezes bunches of her dress between her fingers in a fidgety sort of movement. The only thing that’s going to make this high better is a cigarette, and when she fishes around in her pockets, she finds the fresh pack that she picked up earlier that day. There’s only one missing so far, and it makes her chest swell with excitement. The little things, like having as many smokes as she could possibly want, or Fallon laughing and chugging from a champagne bottle next to her, are so much more amplified like this. The beach is so dark that it’s probably dangerous for them to be on it alone, but the tide is out and the water is surprisingly calm. 

“If I go in there, with you, you know you have to get your hair wet,” Kirby points out, lighting her cigarette and tucking the pack back away.

“No,” Fallon whines quietly, jamming the half-full bottle into the sand beside her so it sits upright. “Just up to our knees.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“Because I want to feel the water,” Fallon drags out the last word, all the way until she’s standing up again and grabbing for Kirby’s hands once more. “C’mon.”

“Fine.” Kirby was never the stick-in-the-mud of their relationship before, and she’s not going to start the habit, now. Climbing to her feet with her lit cigarette between her teeth, she undoes her pants and kicks them off, taking a quick farewell drag from the smoke before tossing it aside to pull her shirt off, next.

She doesn’t strip farther than that - skinny dipping sounds sexy on its own, but god forbid something happens to her or Fallon and she has to play lifeguard in the nude.

Fallon leaves her dress on. It’s red and flowy and the fringe on the bottom below her knees is dirty and sandy, but she doesn’t seem to care for the time being. It’ll be a complaint for the morning - for now, she’s busy pulling Kirby along the shore towards the water, and squealing at how cold it is when it washes up over their feet.

She’s not sure if Fallon forgot her earlier claim that she wouldn’t go past her knees, or if she just stopped caring, but before they know it, they’re up to their waists, and Kirby is pulling her in to wrap her legs around her, anchoring them by standing still on the floor of the water and letting them sway in the waves ever-so-slightly.

Fallon leans back, her legs hooked around the redhead’s waist, and finally gets her hair wet. It’s a relaxed, content sort of admittance of defeat.

“You know, this dress is ruined.” Kirby plucks softly at the once-slinky but now soaked material, right over her ribs.

“It’s fine.” Fallon punctuates with a laugh, blindly grabbing to shove Kirby’s hands away even though she’s already moved them, in a sort of dampened, late reaction to the tickling sensation.

“You’re going to be upset tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to talk about tomorrow.” Fallon’s voice is a little bit more serious, now. Kirby expects her to right herself, but she doesn’t, instead just staying where she is and floating, staring up at the starless sky.

“Why’s that?” she presses, when Fallon doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Because this was nice. I don’t want to go home, yet.”

“There’ll be other trips,” Kirby promises. She gently pulls her to be upright again so she can look at her. Fallon misreads and leans in to kiss her, before stopping herself.

“Sorry,” she breathes. “I forgot.”

“‘S’okay,” Kirby hums, giving her a quick compromise-kiss. An apologetic peck as opposed to the much heavier kiss that Fallon had clearly been going for.

Smiling softly, Fallon tucks her wet hands into the back of Kirby’s hair and purses her lips.

“I’m sort of cold. This may have been a mistake.”

“Back to the room?” Kirby laughs. Fallon nods, unwrapping herself.

The dress clings onto her and sticks to her legs, already covered in mud from kicking up dirt as she makes her way back out of the water and reaches down to grab the champagne from the sand as she passes it. Retrieving her own pile of abandoned clothing, Kirby hurries to catch up, chasing the brunette towards the doors.


	18. lap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "from the kiss prompt list.. can you do firby "kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap""

“You know the seatbelt sign is on, right?” Fallon tried to sound confident, but her voice shook from leftover nervousness. 

“Who’s going to bust us?” Kirby asked, tightening her grip around Fallon’s waist and then stretching her legs out to rest them on the closest ottoman. 

“I’ve been found in worse positions,” Fallon mused, letting her legs gently fall on either side of one of Kirby’s, before leaning back against her propped up arm a little. 

The earlier turbulence had startled Fallon enough to want to trade seats, insisting the reclining swivel-seat closer to the aisle was the option with less movement. How she’d ended up in her girlfriend’s lap was a mystery, but she was comfortable enough to stay in her new spot for the rest of the flight. A little bit of faux-protest on her end made it seem like it was Kirby’s idea, though.

“I bet you have,” Kirby chuckled, pressing her lips to the back of her bare shoulder gently before pulling away. “Probably in this very plane.”

Fallon shrugged coyly, turning a little in Kirby’s lap and brushing a piece of her hair back from her face.

“Maybe.”

“Any stories to share with the class?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t kiss any tell,” Fallon replied.

“That’s good to know.” Kirby nodded sagely. “It’s nice knowing that I can do what I want with you and no one’s going to find out.”

She pulled the brunette a little closer, straightening upward under her to catch her lips with her own.

Smiling into it, Fallon slid her hand from her face into her hair, locking her fingers there and drawing her closer as she deepened the kiss.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she mumbled as she pulled away.

“Does this mean you’re going back to your own seat?” Kirby questioned.

“Not a chance.”

Kissing her again, Kirby felt Fallon’s legs both tighten around the one of her own they were straddling, and reached up to hold the small of her back, keeping her in place.

“If you’re not going to go back to your seat… I might have a better idea of somewhere we could go.” Kirby spoke between kisses, chuckling when the brunette continued to capture her lips with her own and try to cut her off mid-sentence.

Turning to face forward again, Fallon gently pulled Kirby closer to her neck, sighing happily when the redhead followed her lead and attached her lips to the spot behind her ear. Arching forward a little, Kirby felt her bunching up her skirt, and renewed her efforts on the side of her neck.

A little of the danger was missing from the scenario - it was only them and the pilots on the plane, this time, after all, without any attending staff, but it was still fun. Sliding a hand around Fallon’s waist, Kirby replaced her hand with her own and slid her fingers inside of her underwear, chuckling against her shoulder. 

_ “Fallon,”  _ she chided quietly.

“I know,” she hissed back, tilting her head back and using her free hand to grab Kirby’s hair, pulling her closer again. 

“Ms. Carrington, we’re going to start -”

Kirby yanked her hand free so quickly that Fallon made a choked gutted sound in the back of her throat, barely managing to adjust her skirt back in place as the cabin door from the pilots booth slid open.

“Sorry?” she asked, flushed and obviously out of breath.

“We’re going to start our descent, if you wanted to return to your seat.”

“Thank you,” the brunette replied stiffly, clearing her throat and quickly hopping up from her girlfriend’s lap. 

It was a little disconcerting that the co-pilot, carrying their lives in his hands, was as unobservant as he was, but it was also a relief that he left them alone without another word or even hint of suspicion.

“Next time, bathroom.” Kirby sat up and adjusted her own skirt, where it had become wrinkled in their earlier activities.

“Or better yet, the master bed.” Fallon tapped her knuckles against the sliding door that lead to the bedroom at the back of the plane, as she returned to her seat.

“We have a bed at home,” Kirby pointed out, audibly disappointed. “Airplane bathrooms are like, a top ten bucket list item.”

“You have a bucket list?” Fallon asked, snorting.

“You don’t?” Kirby shot back.

There was a long pause, and the redhead broke the silence with a disbelieving laugh.

“We’ll work on it when we land. Put your seatbelt on.”


	19. admire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluffy fluffy soft prompt: one of them wakes up before the other and realizes how pretty their sleeping wife is and how lucky they are and how happy they are rn

Kirby rarely woke up before Fallon did. In fact, she hadn't been up and ready for the day while Fallon was still completely asleep like this since the other woman had been pregnant. It had been months of complaints about feeling sore, not being able to regulate her body temperature long enough to be comfortable in bed, and constant, racing-thought anxiety keeping her up late - but every time, like clockwork, once Fallon actually fell asleep, she was out like a light. 

It was rare that anyone really 'slept pretty', but Kirby had no use for the concept of an ethereal, soft-smiling, framed-by-curls face on a silk pillow, when Fallon - coiled up tightly in a bundle of blankets, brows furrowed like she was pouting in her dreams - was next to her. 

Mirroring her frown, Kirby reached over and gently rubbed her thumb over the line between her eyebrows, smiling when the tension vanished and Fallon's face relaxed again. It was almost sickening that she was  _ this  _ cute.

Propping herself up on her elbow to get a better view, Kirby steadied her hand in concentration and brushed one of the stray tendrils off of the other woman's face, fingertips brushing the shell of her ear and causing her to smile in her sleep, shyly turning to blindly avoid her hand. Pulling it back before she accidentally woke her, Kirby let her eyes trail up to the messy bun in her hair, then back down her face to her neck, the last part of her poking out from her ball of duvet and sheets.

Stealing the covers would be fine - until the winter hit, when Kirby would be forced to put her foot down and stand up for herself, but for the warmer months it was fine. Fallon always ran cold, insisting on leaving the air conditioning on because the heat from the day rose up into their bedroom. Barely being given any of the blankets was an alright trade for being given much more than her half of the bed, in Kirby's mind, anyway. Where Fallon liked to take up as little space as possible, Kirby often found herself sprawled out in any number of positions, as if the surface of the mattress was airspace that she'd lose if she didn't utilize it.

Softly pulling the blanket back a little, and wiggling it from Fallon's iron-grip, Kirby watched as she spread herself out more, seeming to sink into the pillowtop. The fact that she was so wound-up and tense even while she slept had originally been worrisome, but that was replaced with 'endearing' very quickly. Once the brunette was properly stretched out in a considerably healthier, 'normal' position, Kirby sweetened the deal by tucking one hand up the back of her shirt and tracing her nails around her skin in random, looping patterns.

The part that came next wasn't anyone's favorite, but still a necessary evil.

"Fallon, we need to get up. It's almost eight o'clock."

Fallon stirred a little, and then squeezed her eyes shut tighter as she turned to tuck her face into her pillow defiantly.

"Noooo," she whined quietly, muffled. "I was having the nicest dream."

"I'm sorry," Kirby chuckled, continuing to softly drag her nails up and down her back. If it were up to me, we could stay, but unfortunately -"

Like clockwork, their bedroom door flew open. The pattering footsteps of tiny feet on the cold hardwood floor drew closer to the bed in a frantic, stumbling rhythm, before a mess of static-styled blonde hair appeared next to Fallon's side of the bed.

"Are you awake?" Saskia 'whispered' loudly. 

"I am," Kirby replied, leaning over Fallon - who responded with a dramatic grunt - and hoisting the four year old up to their level. "I think Mom's dead, though. Should we see if she has any valuables on her?"

Holding their pajama-clad daughter by the waist and leaning her weight into her wife, Kirby raised an eyebrow when the smaller figure's eyes lit up mischievously.

"Yeah!" She exclaimed, far too loud for the small space and early morning.

"Okay!" Kirby replied, mirroring her enthusiasm before letting Saskia flop onto Fallon completely, and sitting up herself to have a better angle for them to launch a merciless tickle-attack.

"Stop -  _ stop _ ! I'm CLEARLY not dead!" Fallon nearly returned Saskia to the floor as she wriggled to turn onto her back, folding her arms up at her body to try to fend off their hands. "Cut it  _ out- _ !"

"Not dead? Are you sure?" Kirby paused her attack, squinting thoughtfully. "Why  _ else  _ would you be sleeping in late?"

Fallon’s giggling died down to an occasional hiccup, and she fixed them both with a pout.

“ _ Someone _ kept me up late,” she poked the smaller girl accusingly in the stomach, drawing a giggle out of her, “and  _ someone else _ didn’t set the alarm.” She turned her accusing case to her wife, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ah. Guilty as charged. What’s the sentence, then?”

“You have to make PANCAKES,” Saskia insisted, bouncing on her knees and having no luck controlling her volume.

“Yeah, because what  _ you  _ need is more sugar,” Kirby replied sarcastically, smiling. “Go brush your teeth. We’ll be down in a minute.”

Turning her attention back to Fallon, she smoothed the hair that had fallen in her face from their tussle back, and leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning, by the way.”


	20. kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: For the fluffy firby prompt number 15 from the kiss prompt thingy you posted a while back. Let’s be honest just write all of those though... (15. a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss)
> 
> this fill implies that steven died previous to the setting of the writing.

"Don't tell me you can't swim."

Lowering her sunglasses and watching Sam approach her lounge chair, Fallon squinted against the sun that halo'd his silhouette and tried to fix him with a withering look.

"I've been here for years and I've never seen you even dip one toe into that pool," he continued.

Behind him, water sloshed up onto the deck of the pool in question and Kirby emerged from below it, slicking her hair back from her face and blinking away the chlorine in her eyes.

"She can swim," she defended. "She just hates getting her hair wet."

"That makes it even more tempting to throw her in," Sam replied, turning his attention to Kirby, instead. Fallon stiffened, like a threatened cat, but said nothing.

"Trust me, I know. But I'd also like to still have a girlfriend by the end of the summer," Kirby mused, before turning on her back and kicking off from the pool's edge to float further out into the deep end.

Sam turned back to Fallon, and then moved to sit beside her, laughing when she flinched away from him.

"Oh, relax. I don't want to get my hair wet any more than you do, right now," he told her, bringing one hand up to smooth his freshly-styled hair as though even a single strand were out of place. He settled in at the foot of her lounger and then leaned back against the nearest table, dipping into the shade.

She had to wonder if he missed Steven even more on days like this. The holidays had gotten easier and more comfortable for him, over time, but even when he'd started to date again, Fallon tended to catch him seeming wistful or sad most often in the moments that didn't seem to have any sort of monumental significance attached. She couldn't blame him - she found herself missing Steven because of the smallest details, like finding his favorite hand-painted mug shoved into the back of a cupboard, unused for years, or expecting to see him when she walked past his old room. She’d been thinking about Steven the entire morning - his birthday was coming up, after all. Kirby’s suggestion to enjoy the beautiful weather had been a welcome plan. She could let the other woman swim on her own and drown her own feelings in a cocktail - or three - without getting her sad vibes all over Kirby’s good time.

Before Fallon could try to analyze the look on Sam's face any further, Kirby launched herself out of the pool and came over to grab her towel.

"How’s the water?" Sam asked her.

"Amazing," she sighed back, pulling her wet red hair around one shoulder and wringing it out onto the pavement. The water droplets steamed as they hit the ground, and Fallon reflexively sipped her icy cocktail. "You should seriously come in."

Her gaze was set on Fallon, now, who simply shook her head and then offered Kirby the remainder of her drink.

"Thanks, babe." She slid the straw aside and chugged.

Fallon could feel Sam watching her in her peripherals, but no knowing or judging look could deter her from letting her eyes drop down the other woman's chest, across the plane of her stomach to her thighs. The view was just one more nice perk to a day in the sun.

"Maybe I will get in, for a minute," she decided, standing up and unhooking the sarong from around her waist. 

"Yeah?" Kirby lit up, breathless from drinking so quickly, and set the now-empty glass aside. Any plans she'd had for relaxing after her laps had clearly shifted, and she grabbed Fallon's hand to pull her towards the edge.

"Ah-ah," Fallon leaned back, pulling her to a stop. "Stairs."

Rolling her eyes but letting her go, Kirby stepped casually into the water as if it were another step on the pavement, and with a two-finger forehead salute, and vanished under its surface for a moment.

Piling her hair up on top of her head and pulling the elastic from her wrist, Fallon slowly stepped down the concrete stairs into the water, groaning quietly under her breath. It was amazing - she hadn't realized how much heat she'd been retaining from laying in the sun but the just-cool water felt incredible on her skin.

Kirby swam up to her as she reached the last step, and she shied back.

"I'm not going to pull you in," she told her, chuckling as she planted her feet on the shallow bottom of the pool and stood upright. "C'mere."

Reaching out, she planted her still-cold hands on Fallon's waist, gently encouraging her down the last couple of steps until they were both up to their ribs, the water washing back and forth in tiny waves.

"What's wrong?" she asked, the smile dropping from her face. Fallon realized she'd been staring, too quiet to be deemed 'normal', and shook her head.

"Nothing's wrong. I think I'm changing my mind about getting my hair wet."

"Oh yeah?" Kirby raised an eyebrow, stepping backwards into the pool and letting her arms stretch out as she kept her fingers resting on Fallon's hips.

"Mhm. I haven't been properly swimming since we were kids, anyway."

Kirby lit up at the memory, letting go of her to sink into the water a little further, bending her knees until the waves reached her neck and shoulders.

"When Steven taught us."

"Right," Fallon nodded, stepping off of the last step and feeling the water splash up onto the underside of her bikini top. "Worst coach ever."

"He was patient," Kirby defended, standing up again as Fallon drew closer. Her facial expression turned a little more serious, before she asked: "Do you want to do anything next week? For his birthday?"

Fallon felt her throat tighten, and then stiffly shook her head.

"Nothing big. Please."

"Okay," Kirby replied easily, closing the space between them and grabbing her waist again. "You were sure you do want to get your hair wet, now?"

"I mean, I don't mind, if -"

Squealing as the redhead suddenly pulled her into a hug and then collapsed backwards into the water, Fallon squirmed free of her grip under the surface and emerged, gasping in a deep breath once before pulling her arm back to fling a tidal-wave of a splash at the other woman as soon as she came up for air. 

Laughing despite being splashed in the face, squeezing her eyes shut against the water, Kirby weakly and uncoordinatedly splashed her back, about to open her eyes when the brunette tackled her back into the water.

Anticipating being dunked, Kirby squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and then relaxed as Fallon cupped her cheeks. More of a smile than a kiss, she pressed her lips to hers softly, despite the water trying to jostle them back and forth.

"What was that for?" Kirby asked when she pulled back to look at her. She seemed more out of breath from the simple kiss than she was from the swimming and the playfighting. Her voice was hoarse from laughter, and despite the chlorine rimming the edges with red, her eyes were bright with endearment.

Fallon shook her head a little, smiling much more easily than she had all morning. 

"I love you," she replied, matching her volume by dropping her voice down to barely more than a whisper. Something in her tone softened the other woman's face, but she didn't give her the chance to respond before kissing her again, with a little more power behind it. 

Kirby's arm slipped around her waist below the water and her free hand lifted to cup her shoulder, but just as she sighed quietly into the kiss and seemed to physically unwind, Fallon pushed her back, dunking them both back below the surface and out of the heat of the sun.


	21. tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'prompt idea: toddler saskia throws a tantrums and kirby and fallon have a very different reaction to it.'

"Hey," Kirby all but clotheslined the two year old that bolted past her, shrieking with giggles as the redhead swung her up into the air and then into her lap to look at her more seriously. "I asked you to put your coat on. Its time to go."

Immediately going quiet, Saskia flopped deadweight against the couch, falling halfway out of her mother's lap and whining.

"No, no," pulling her by the shoulders to sit up again, Kirby shot Fallon a quick 'lets wrap this up' sort of look where she was sitting a few chairs away, and then stood up. "I gave you lots of warning." 

The afternoon had dragged on for a lot longer than it needed to, and it was already a little later than they usually ate dinner - which Kirby was sure was at least partially responsible for why their daughter’s mood was so unstable. They’d only just returned from a weekend away, and since Saskia had spent the entire three days chattering non-stop in her almost-coherent vocabulary about her best friend Claire, so Fallon and Kirby had mutually decided that an afternoon playdate would help her burn off some energy.

“I’m sorry,” Kirby told Angelina - Claire’s mother, before mouthing ‘oh my god’ silently over the wriggling toddler in her arms, wincing minutely at the shriek of protest that she left out before trying to squirm free.

“Oh, don’t be,” The other woman waved a hand and hoisted herself to her feet as well. “I should check on Claire - shes too quiet.”

Fallon got up as well, glancing at Kirby and then at the girl in her arms as Angelina made herself scarce. 

“Here,” she held both arms out, but Kirby hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm, gimme.” Fallon scooped the little girl into her own arms without another word, then gently covered her mouth with one hand as the whining complaints began to turn into loud, fake crying. “Shh.”

She did go immediately quiet, staring at Fallon as she lowered her hand and sniffling dramatically. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Kirby spun on her heel to head out of the room - likely to grab her coat.

“We have to go home, now.”

_ “No.” _

“Yeah,” Fallon gently moved to put her down, groaning softly when the blonde gripped onto her even tighter, her volume increasingly immediately.

_ “NO.” _

“Yes,” she repeated. “We need to eat dinner.”

Slumping down as Fallon set her on the floor, the two year old crumpled into a pile and burst into tears, causing the brunette to rub both hands over her temples before stepping unceremoniously over her.

“Fine. I’ll leave you here, then.”

Heading for the door, Fallon glanced back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at the sight of Saskia picking softly at the rug she was slumped over on, crocodile tears no where in sight. 

“What’s this?” 

Fallon glanced up to see Kirby leaning in the doorway, a tiny puffy white coat draped over her arm. She didn’t give Fallon a chance to answer the rather obvious question, sidestepping and holding the coat out and open as she crouched down.

“Put your coat on.”

Saskia glanced up at her briefly, eyes flicking from the coat to Kirby's face before she looked at the rug again as if she hadn't heard her.

"I'll put it on for you, if you want." Crouching down properly, Kirby glanced back at Fallon for a moment and then turned towards the little girl in front of her. Her voice turned brighter, engaging and almost playful. "Do you... need me to put this on for you, _ orrrrrr _ do you want to see if you can do it _ real quick _? I'll time you."

Saskia looked up curiously, a tiny slow smile spreading across her face before she pushed herself up to stand, reaching out for the coat with both hands excitedly.

“Okay,” Kirby laughed, helping her get a grip on the piece before she stood up and back. “Ready? Fast as you can… _ go.” _

Turning to Fallon, Kirby leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"I started the car."

Dumbstruck quiet for a moment - if not also a little annoyed - Fallon turned back to the toddler and pursed her lips. Kirby's voice carried from the hall as she headed out of the room again, "... _ three... four _...!"

"Oh, careful with the zipper," Fallon dropped roughly to the rug and gently batted her hands away, finishing zipping up the front of the coat for her before she could catch her fingers. "Careful."

In place of another fit at being scolded, even gently, the tiny blonde stared at her with wide eyes of understanding, before repeating, "_ Careful _."

“Thats right,” Fallon sat back on her knees, wincing at the strain before pushing herself to her feet and holding one hand out. “Are you ready?”

“No -” she started, but Fallon cut her off.

“Are you hungry?” Kirby had always insisted on giving her choices, or responding to ‘no’ with more questions, and she hated how effective it was, sometimes - moreso, she hated how effective it was, and that she hadn’t come up with it first.

After a moment to decide, Saskia nodded, then took her hand.

Standing in the front doorway talking with Angelina, Kirby looked considerably less worn down from the earlier tantrum than Fallon felt, and as Saskia gave Claire one last hug goodbye and followed down the long drive towards their parked car with them, she was beginning to look more and more forward to eating, taking a hot bath, and then curling up on the couch with the two of them.

The drive was relatively quiet for the first half. Both Fallon and Kirby sat in comfortable silence, still tired from their trip and the afternoon as well. They weaved through the slower traffic, and Fallon was convinced she might fall asleep in the passenger’s seat before an excited exclamation from the backseat startled her back to focus.

“What!” Kirby replied, switching from mature to childish to match their daughter’s tone.

“_ Please!” _

Frowning to themselves, both women glanced back into the back seat and then sighed simultaneously. They didn’t eat a lot of fast food - Fallon wasn’t personally a fan of any, and the quality of the stuff that fit Saskia’s underdeveloped palate was barely up to Kirby’s standards, either. Still, the mashed potatoes from _ Bojangles _had been a god-send when she’d gotten her first stomach ache and had trouble keeping anything else down. Since then, it had been a good go-to treat when she wasn’t in the mood for much else, or needed something to hold her over while the pair of them ate more involved meals that she wasn’t interested in.

“No,” Kirby tried gently as the large sign slid by their view. “Not tonight.”

“_ Please,” _she tried more insistently, frustration lacing into her tone. She wriggled against her seatbelt, trying to plant both hands to the window. 

“Hey. Sit nice, please,” Fallon reached back and prodded at her leg gently until she faced forward again, then turned her attention to her wife. “At least she said ‘please’.”

“That’s because ‘mashed potatoes’ takes too long.”

Her response drew a small, tired chuckle out of the brunette as she turned her attention back to the windshield. 

Behind them, the girl’s insistence got louder and louder, and less coherent as they continued to pass the restaurant without turning. 

“Hey, I said no.” Kirby glanced back in the rear view mirror as she pulled to a stop at another red light, reaching back behind herself and grabbing Saskia’s ankle as she tried to kick the back of her seat. She’d outgrown facing backwards quickly, which had been nice at first until it came to her having the ability to use her lower limbs mid-tantrum. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Oh my god,” Fallon groaned, leaning forward and rubbing her temples again as the oncoming headache set in once more. “Okay, enough. Can we please just get the stupid -”

“No,” Kirby cut her off, keeping her eyes on the road.

“She won’t stop.”

"Because you're not listening to her."

"How can I not?" Fallon snapped, gesturing wildly. "Everyone within two hundred miles is listening!"

“That isn’t what I meant.” Kirby’s tone was so calm that it was infuriating. She’d had her own fair share of meltdowns in response to being overwhelmed by their daughter in the past, but she always seemed frustratingly put together whenever Fallon was falling apart. It was an ultimately good thing that at least one of them usually felt grounded enough for them both, but it didn’t make Fallon feel any better when she couldn’t handle a situation. 

Saskia cried until she was tired, her sobs whittling down into a dull whimper - which she tried and failed to renew with fresh energy when Fallon glanced back at her - and by the time they pulled into their own driveway, following the path of solar-lights that trailed up from the road towards the door, she had fallen asleep completely. 

“Can you please get her?” Kirby reached over across the center console, covering Fallon’s hand with her own for a moment.

Nodding tiredly, feeling as exhausted as the toddler in the back seat, Fallon climbed out of the car and wandered around to the other side, trying to open the door to the back seat as quietly as possible and not wake her up.

She was dead-weight in Fallon’s arms for a moment as she pulled her out from the seat and to her chest, before both arms slipped around her neck and nuzzled her face into her shoulder. It was hard to grasp that she was the same one that had been screaming and crying over not wanting to leave a playdate, or not wanting to eat at home when fast food seemed more appealing. 

“She’s really out, huh?”

Kirby dug around in the trunk for a moment, before pulling out their bags and shutting it loudly. Fallon winced, glancing at Saskia again, but was pleased to see she hadn’t stirred.

“That, or she’s getting better at faking it.”

Snorting, the redhead shook her head and the three of them began to head inside. 

“I really don’t want to have to wake her up to eat,” Fallon admitted.

“We did mess her schedule up a little,” Kirby agreed. “But its just the once. She’ll be fine.”

Once inside, Fallon begrudgingly took on the task of trying to wake her up, trying to keep her own sighing under control when her gentleness only succeeded in making the girl cuddle up more insistently or try to fall back asleep. It wasn’t clear if the two year old realized exactly how effective of a strategy being overly affectionate was - especially in lieu of being apologetic for the fits earlier. Fallon rarely got _ mad - _frustrated, maybe. Overwhelmed, sure - but it was impossible to stay any of those things with twenty-eight pounds of cherubic, sleepy toddler curled up in her arms.

“She up?” Kirby rounded the corner into the living room and stopped in the doorway, quirking an eyebrow.

“Here,” Fallon went to pry her off to hand her over, grunting under her breath when both of the toddler’s small hands tightened around her, one gripping at her collarbone and the other at the shoulder of her dress. “Jesus.”

“_ No!” _The tears were instant, but intentionally dramatic, vanishing as quickly as they arrived when Fallon stopped fighting her off and let her flop back into her chest, almost knocking the wind out of her.

“Yes,” Kirby swept into the room calmly, sitting down next to Fallon and reaching out for her. “I know you’re hungry. Plus, you have to come eat dinner, or else I have to text the tickle monster.”

_ “NO!” _ The defiant rejection had a considerably different tone, now, and Fallon felt a tiny wave of relief pass over her when she felt the two year old squirm to get free before Kirby could grab her. The earlier tears were immediately replaced with shrieks of laughter as she fell harmlessly between the two of them on the couch and the redhead’s fingers played piano-like scales up her ribs. 

“Okay,” she pulled back to stare down at her, sighing heavily to mirror the breathless sound of relief Saskia made. “Ready for dinner?”

This time she nodded, beaming excitedly and holding both arms out to be picked up again.

Hiking her up, Kirby glanced back at the couch and made a small sympathetic noise in the back of her throat at the sight of Fallon looking visibly exhausted.

“C’mon,” she nudged her leg with her knee softly. “You too.”

“Oh yeah? Going to send the tickle monster after me too?” Fallon stood up slowly, smoothing out the bits of her dress where Saskia had been gripping them by the fistful.

“Maybe later, if you’re good,” Kirby replied without missing a beat, winking at her before carrying their daughter into the dining room.

Dinner went off without a hitch, and they even managed to tag-team bath time and put Saskia to bed without a single complaint or fuss. Collapsing on their own bed, face-down and still fully dressed, Fallon groaned into her pillow.

“One of our better evenings, considering the circumstances, I’d say,” Kirby’s voice floated in from the en-suite. 

“Are you kidding?” Fallon lifted her head just enough to respond as she listened to her wife’s footsteps on the hard wood floors approaching the bed. “I swear to god if she’s not asleep she hates me-oooh.”

Lowering her head back to the bed to gratefully accept the impromptu back rub she was suddenly receiving, Fallon closed her eyes and tried to relax.

“You _ know _she loves you. You’re just being dramatic, which is where she gets it, by the way. She just fell out of the gate of having two whole emotions into having a whole spectrum. You need to listen to her.”

Turning her chin to face the other woman as she slid up onto the bed beside her, Fallon jutted her lip out into a tiny pout.

“I’m going deaf listening to her.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” Kirby chuckled, reaching over and pushing a lock of her hair back. “Kids have tantrums. Are you going to pretend you didn’t? You _ still _do.”

“_ Hey. _” Fallon swatted her hair away huffily, rolling onto her side and fixing her with a glare. 

“You’re doing a great job, you know that, right?”

It fell quiet for a moment, and then Fallon nodded defeatedly.

“Sometimes.”

“All the time,” Kirby corrected, returning her hand to her hair to stroke it off of her face. “_ She _ is doing a terrible job of communicating. But she’s allowed to, because she’s two. We gotta meet halfway. Me and you, _ and _us and her.”

“When did you get so smart?” Fallon’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

“I know what its like. Throwing fits because you’re upset and not having anyone listen. Its a lot easier to punish a kid for acting out than it is to sit down and figure out whats wrong - but I didn’t do this with you with any plans for ‘easy’.”

Her words almost had a sad undertone - almost - or maybe Fallon had imagined it, picturing the other woman at their daughter’s age, always being treated like a burden or a brat. Her own dramatic childhood antics had been met with coddling, and while she’d turned out fine...ish, it did leave her wholly unprepared.

“I’m lucky it’s with you,” she said, after a moment.

Kirby’s face broke into a smile, carefree and content, before she leaned down and kissed her softly.

“I love you. Can we please get some sleep, now? I think all three of us need to start resetting our internal clocks first thing tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Fallon replied, stifling a tiny yawn. “And, I love you too.”


	22. coffee

Groaning softly as her email screen refreshed, showing four new additions to the already full inbox, Fallon resisted the urge to slam her laptop shut and pressed her shaking hands to the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep her temper in check.

The entire week was beginning to feel like a write-off. As grateful as she still was for Femperial, it had its moments of feeling like it was more stress than it was really worth. The work itself was fine but the consistent disrespect often outweighed the feelings of empowerment or forward momentum. The constant belittlement from her male competitors had caused her more than her fair-share of Kanye-level office meltdowns. More than one piece of tasteful decor had been destroyed as penance for being within her arms reach after losing a potential client that she was courting or listening to a particularly backhanded voicemail. 

Her new publicist - a gentle suggestion from Kirby after the fiasco with Blake’s assault accusations - was incredibly effective, if not a little overbearing. Her morning check-ins were nice, but the having to remember to text her every time Fallon wanted to post on Instagram was already getting old. She appreciated knowing that she was safe from another public scandal for the time being, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being babysat, which she had never been particularly good at.

Her phone buzzing on her desk snapped her attention away from the frustrating emails, and she felt a familiar but entirely unwelcome flutter in her chest when she read the name flashing on the screen.

_ Kirby _ .

Letting it ring twice before picking it up, Fallon leaned back in her seat and took a calming breath before speaking.

"Kirby. What is it?"

The other woman sounded a little breathless - she had insisted on walking instead of hiring a car when she went out to run a few above-intern-paygrade errands - but ultimately upbeat. Her morning was obviously going better than Fallon's was.

"Hi! I'm just finishing up here and getting ready to come back - did you eat anything, yet?"

"No," Fallon started, then quickly corrected her mistake. "I mean - no, I don't want you to bring me anything, if that was what you were leading in to."

A car horn honked in the background of the call. Kirby sighed.

"You didn't answer my question - well, you did. Sort of. I'll be back in less than ten."

Hanging up without another word, Fallon turned back to the screen and exited out of her email inbox and pulled up a new browser tab instead. Fingers still shaking from leftover adrenaline, she typed her own name into the search bar, clicked the 'news' tab, and began to scroll.

A result that hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep well past midnight the night before caught her attention, and she glanced at the office door to ensure it was still closed before guiltily clicking on the link.

_ Fallon Carrington: Failing Upwards _

Wincing at the title but preparing to keep reading, Fallon lurched forward to guard the screen when a knock at her office door announced that she was no longer alone.

"Come in!"

Straightening up and quickly minimizing the tab, Fallon rearranged her features into what she hoped was something neutral and unbothered just as Allison pushed the door open a crack and peeked her head inside.

"I've got a couple of manuscripts for you to sign for." She twisted more of her torso around the door like she were taking up as little room as possible, then held up a few heavy-looking envelopes. 

Beckoning her into the office with two fingers as she reached for one of her pens with her free hand, Fallon sighed tiredly and let the earlier momentary panic at getting caught melt away. It was replaced with sleepiness, though. Urgent sleepiness, in fact, her late night catching up with her all at once as Allison took the signed sheets back out into the reception area and left Fallon alone with the stack of fresh work.

She tried to focus, but the tab in the corner of her eye - shrunken down to a simple icon on her task bar - was taunting her. She knew whatever it said wouldn’t be accurate - the downside to the survival tactic of lacking public vulnerability also meant everyone else seemed to lack the cognitive dissonance to have any proper grasp on who she was as a person - but she  _ had  _ to know. Pushing aside the envelope she’d just unsealed, she glanced at the door - still cracked open from when Allison had come in - and then reopened the article. 

Carrington  _ is a name that has bloomed out from the greater Atlanta area into a success story as impactful of pop culture as  _ Kardashian  _ or  _ Trump  _ over the last few generations, though just like it’s fellow categorants, has also had its fair share of painfully public failures.  _

“I come bearing coffee, please hold your applause,” Kirby’s voice startled Fallon out of her silent reading as she slipped almost silently into the office. 

Scrambling to close the laptop as Kirby approached the desk, Fallon reached for one of the manuscript envelopes and held it out for the other woman to take, offering it as a distraction. Unloading the coffees and a paper bag onto the corner of the desk, the other woman knitted her brows together in thought.

"What's this?"

She reached out as if she was going to take it, but circled the desk and grabbed the top of the laptop instead, swiveling it around to look at the screen.

"Wait -" Reaching out for it in protest, Fallon groaned under her breath when Kirby harmlessly flicked her hands away and dipped down further to peer at the words on the screen, then read aloud: "Fallon Carrington - Failing Upwards."

Snorting in disbelief, Kirby shook her head and then reached for the trackpad, scrolling further down the article. Fallon's eyes flicked down to her hand and she realized she was holding her breath; the other woman's arm was nearly draped over her shoulder, close enough that they were nearly cheek to cheek.

"This is stupid," Kirby concluded, standing upright again. "Just another example of your enigma."

Feeling the corners of her mouth tug upwards involuntarily at the compliment, Fallon rolled her eyes to suppress it.

"I'm a little tired of being told who I am by other people - people who don't know me."

"As you should be," Kirby affirmed, rounding the desk again to pull the coffees from their tray one by one. "You know yourself - no one else needs to. One sugar, two ice cubes, and a half-shot of creamer."

She placed one of the paper cups in front of Fallon, pulling her attention from the screen to it, instead.

"I figured... midday lull, you'd want your chugging-temperature order instead." Smiling easily, she reached for the bag, next, and then reached inside of it to produce a mouth-wateringly fresh looking muffin. "And a muffin."

She placed it next to Fallon's coffee, then took the remaining cup for herself and nodded to the stack of manuscripts again.

"Do you want me to start on those?"

Blindly handing her the first envelope from the stack, Fallon dropped her gaze back to the muffin and cleared her throat.

“Thank you.”

Kirby shrugged, still smiling.

“I put bananas in the mini-fridge this morning, too.” 

Heading to her usual spot by the coffee table, the redhead settled in on one of the couches and got to work, leaving Fallon alone to her thoughts.

The coffee was admittedly perfect. Perhaps she wasn't as unknown to  _ everyone  _ as she had originally thought.


	23. decorating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Amanda

"I told you that the sugar was a bad idea," Fallon sighed, watching her two year old fly across the room. It was as if all of her admittedly poor motor skills were being specifically saved for that evening, with the toddler managing to dart out of Fallon's reach every time she ran too close to her, tilting her head back and cackling like some kind of cheesy supervillain out of a movie. 

"Oh, please," Kirby snorted, reaching over to where their daughter had abandoned the remains of her second sugar cookie on a cocktail napkin on the coffee table. She swept the crumbs into her hand and then balled them into a napkin, before picking up the remaining half of the cookie and taking a bite. Thickly, she added: "You have to have cookies while you decorate the tree. It's like... a law, or something. Probably."

"I don't think that's correct."

"I don't care," Kirby replied, her own accent dropping for a moment as she mimicked her wife's tone. Leaning in, she pressed a quick, sweet kiss to her lips and then held up the balled up napkin in gesture. "I'm going to go throw this away and be right back. Also, she's getting into the tinsel."

"Shit!" Whirling around, Fallon spotted the small girl picking up a round of tinsel and admiring it with wide eyes. She glanced up, spotted Fallon watching her, and took off again, darting behind the tree for shelter. 

Knowing from experience that she wanted the chase and would only be encouraged to commit more mischief if she got to see Fallon trying to squeeze behind the tree to grab her, the brunette instead settled in on the floor and pulled the nearest box closer to her, gasping loudly when she looked at its contents. It was a basic box of ornaments - Swarovski snowflakes, enough to create a base on their new tree - but she acted as though they were the most fascinating and unique things she'd ever seen, barely keeping the grin off of her face when she saw the toddler curiously peek out from behind the tree in her peripherals. 

Cooing over the contents of the box - but never pulling out any of the pieces inside, Fallon watched as the little girl slowly crept closer, still clutching the tinsel between both hands. Waiting until she was within her reach, Fallon grabbed her with both hands and pulled her tumbling into her lap, grinning victoriously when the toddler screamed in surprise.

Getting her surprised giggling under control, she huffily stared up at Fallon, cherub-like features morphing into a look as angry as she was able to muster. 

_ "Mama." _

She sounded so genuinely scolding and adult-like that it caught the brunette off-guard before she burst out laughing, tilting her head back and trying to regain her composure. 

“Did I trick you?”

Pursing her lips in annoyance, Saskia crossed her arms, still clutching the tinsel, and looked away poutily.

"You look just like your mom when you do that."

Shifting her to sit up in her lap a little, Fallon pulled the box a little closer as a distraction and softly pried the tinsel free from her grip with her other hand. 

"Look. You have to be gentle."

The ornaments cured the pouting - for the time being - and the two year old leaned excitedly over the edge of the box to see better, tinsel and trickery forgotten.

"Gentle," she repeated, sitting back and holding both hands out expectantly for Fallon to place one of the ornaments in her outstretched palms. She clutched it surprisingly tightly, though it was luckily a sturdy enough piece that it didn’t crack under the pressure. The way that the little girl was staring at it in complete wonder made Fallon pause - she loved them, sure, but they  _ were  _ generic - when she’d agreed that she and Kirby (and eventually Saskia) would decorate their own smaller tree in their own place together, Alexis had dug them out of storage for her. She hadn’t seen them since her own childhood by then, but they were a matching set, and too small for the massive professionally decorated tree that was usually set up in the manor. Now, though, she was seeing them through new eyes. Taking after both of her parents, the toddler had an affinity for all things sparkly and shiny, and Christmas decor was no exception. The pieces that she normally considered a boring base seemed much more beautiful when they were reflected in her daughter’s excited eyes, though. 

“You like that?” she couldn’t help but laugh a little, jostling her in her lap.

_ “Oui.” _

Grinning even more, Fallon leaned over and pressed her lips to her temple.

_ “Very  _ good.” 

Kirby returned in that moment with a few more cookies on a plate, crouching down on the other side of the box and digging around in it curiously.

“Hey, look at this.” Shifting to sit down, she stretched her legs onto either side of the box, pulling out a clay ornament, with a photo of Saskia nestled into the middle of it.  _ Baby’s First Christmas  _ was wrapped around the photo, and a small dangling string of diamonds hung down from the bottom.

Distracted by the  _ new  _ shiny thing, Saskia impatiently handed the crystal ornament back to Fallon, already reaching for the one in Kirby’s hand instead.

“Ah ah,” Kirby held it back, as if the girl would even be able to reach in the first place, and shook her head. “You have to say ‘please’ if you want to see.”

“Please?” She leaned so hard out of Fallon’s lap that she had to grab her by the waist to keep her from tumbling onto the hardwood floor.  _ “PLEASE?” _

Wordlessly handing her the ornament, Kirby turned her attention back to the box, then laughed.

“What… is this supposed to be?”

She pulled out a paper plate, creased in half with a hole cut out of the center. It was haphazardly finger-painted green, with a few buttons glued to it seemingly at random - and a few glue spots where a few buttons had clearly jumped ship.

“A  _ wreath,  _ obviously,” Fallon practically hissed as she reached for it. “Don’t be rude.”

“Oh please, she isn’t paying attention to me,” Kirby dismissed, waving a hand with a small laugh before intentionally grabbing the toddler’s attention again. “Saskia… did you make this?  _ Very  _ pretty.”

Perking up at the sound of her name, the blonde whirled around to look at the craft in question, beaming proudly before seeming to get shy, and turning to hide her face in Fallon’s shoulder. Chuckling, she set the plate aside and continued to rummage through the box.

“I didn’t think we’d be starting the craft hoarding so early - I thought we’d at least have until she started preschool before we needed to make a separate storage box.”

“Yeah, well,” Fallon smoothed the blonde’s hair back slowly, staticky from her earlier excitement. “I like them.”

“I do too,” Kirby insisted, smiling hopefully before pulling out an admittedly messy-looking paper candy cane. The outlines of stripes were colored in by an uncoordinated hand, and she appeared to have grown uninterested in the color red halfway through, opting for a combination of purple, black, and pink. “Wow.”

“She’s  _ creative _ ,” Fallon said defensively.

“You act like I’m critiquing her honed skills,” Kirby laughed, setting it aside as well before reaching for the plate and taking another cookie. She slid it closer to her wife, as if hoping the baked goods would ease her defensive mood.

It worked, and the brunette split her cookie in half to share with the toddler in her lap, mood quelled for the time being.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to save any of these for Santa,” the redhead mused, eyeing the cookie in her hand admiringly before taking another bite, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I have truly outdone myself. I could have a real future in baking.”

“Yeah well, the first three batches you burnt would say otherwise.”

“Hey,” Kirby crowed, laughing. “Perfection takes practice. Besides, as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.” She nodded to Saskia, who was absentmindedly and open-mouthedly chowing down on her half of the cookie, eyes fixating on the twinkling built-in lights of the tree behind Kirby. 

“Uh-oh,” Fallon hummed. “She’s starting to zone out. We might need to wrap this up.”

Anticipating a crash from the sugar, she eased the toddler out of her lap and stood up before picking her up once more, and swiping up the tinsel as well. Balancing the girl on her hip, she made her way over to the tree and offered her a couple of pieces of tinsel to place as she finished the remainder of her cookie.

Showing her how to lay a couple of pieces, first, Fallon watched as she shakily and messily placed a couple of strands herself, beaming happily - if not a little tiredly - at the results.

Kirby seemed to materialize behind them, tucking her chin over Fallon’s shoulder and staring up at the tree thoughtfully.

“We ready for the star?”

“I think so,” Fallon mused, hiking Saskia up a little more securely, and turning to look back at her wife as she rummaged through the last remaining box. Being the only one tall enough, it was generally her job to place the topper on the tree - but she still had her own inclusive traditions. Returning to the tree - and her family - she held the star up, kissed it once, then held it out for Saskia.

“For luck,” she explained. Watching her carefully as she mimicked her actions, Saskia leaned forward in Fallon’s arms and messily planted her lips onto the star as well, clapping once, decisively, as she finished. Smirking, Kirby turned to Fallon and held it out. “Fallon?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Fine, but you’re the only one who’s going to have bad luck for the rest of the year.”

“It’s like a month - I think I’ll handle it.”

Kirby paused, then held the star out more insistently. Rolling her eyes, Fallon leaned forward, pecking the star quickly and stepping back to make room for Kirby to affix it to the top of the tree. 

“Perfect.”

Setting the toddler in her arms down, Fallon squeezed herself behind the tree to attach the cord from the star to the cord from the tree, waiting for the triumphant  _ ‘yay!’  _ of victory from the other woman to signal that it had successfully lit up. Sidling back out to admire it herself, she spotted Saskia between the empty decoration boxes, sprawled out on the floor surrounded by tinsel, with another contraband cookie that she’d snuck from the plate clutched in her tiny hand.

Kirby followed her gaze and chuckled quietly, padding quietly over to her and picking her up from the floor.

“I’ll put her to bed,” she said, shifting the dead-weight of their completely passed out child onto her shoulder and holding her close. “I think there’s still a couple of cookies left in the kitchen, if you want to grab them.”

“What about Santa?” Fallon teased, stepping closer and smoothing back her daughter’s hair gently.

“I think Santa will be okay with a glass of wine on Christmas Eve - I’ll ask him myself if he has a preference.”

Chuckling, Fallon kissed her daughter, and then her wife, stepping out of the way to let them pass before turning her attention back to the tree, the mess of tinsel on the floor, and the glittering lights.


	24. topping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fallon tries to top from the bottom, and fails (yes i know you’ve done it before i want more sue me)
> 
> **this update is explicit! it involves explicit descriptions of oral sex, please skip or scroll if you aren't interested!**

"What - what're you doing?" 

Stretched out comfortably between her girlfriend's legs, holding most of her weight up on one elbow propped against the mattress, Kirby pulled back from the other woman to squint accusingly as her legs tightened around her back.

"What?" Fallon asked breathlessly, dipping her head a little to focus. "Nothing. What're you doing?"

"Wondering why you're trying to put me in a WWE reversal," she replied easily, reaching back and softly prying Fallon's legs away from her torso until they fell back to the bed.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Did you want to get on top?” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice any longer, using her free hand to swipe her hair back from her face as she waited for the brunette’s answer. 

“That’s not - no, why did you stop?”

Grinning, she leaned in and kissed her, then worked her way down her jaw before speaking again.

“Because you were trying to push me over.” She spoke just below her ear, tickling her intentionally so that she could feel the smile on her face despite her obvious attempts to stay stern and serious.

"You're such an asshole sometimes, for no reason, you know that?"

Rolling her eyes between kissing her neck, Kirby shook her head then wedged one arm between their bodies, travelling down to slip her hand under the waistband of Fallon's underwear.

"Okay," she 'suggested'. "Quiet, now."

She heard Fallon's breath catch, an almost imperceptible little sound of agreement coming out of her, and just like the magic, the snark had vanished.

Outside of her bedroom, staff milled about, getting ready for the anniversary party, but it was quiet where they were, safe behind a locked door. They’d have to get ready too, soon, but for the time being this was the only place they needed to be.

"This wasn't exactly what I thought you had in mind when you asked if I wanted to pregame," Kirby told her after a moment, pulling back just enough to press an affectionate kiss to the other woman's flushed cheek.

"I -" She stopped midsentence, arching closer to the redhead when the fingertips that had been barely pressing against her curled, sliding inside of her one at a time and setting off fireworks behind her eyelids when she squeezed them shut.

"You...?"

"Stop teasing," she hissed, twisting her hips and then grinding down onto her hand. "We don't have that much time."

"We have plenty of time," Kirby replied, leaning back a little and pressing her weight to Fallon's leg, pushing them open further. Shifting a little to accommodate her, the brunette grabbed her wrist and held her hand still in its spot, switching their pace and letting her head fall back contently again.

“Hurry up,” she insisted, keeping her voice hushed. “Ugh, this isn’t working. Can you just -”

Kirby lifted her head from the other woman’s neck just in time to have it pushed downward, and couldn’t help but laugh at the messy execution.

“What’re you doing? You’re just going to shove me down there and I’ll what? Just carry on?”

“Oh my god,” Fallon breathed, considerably less happy-sounding than she’d been moments earlier. “Are we doing this or not?”

Remedying her oncoming grouchiness by kissing her gently, Kirby nodded slowly.

“If that’s as close to a ‘please’ as I’m going to get, then I suppose so.”

“It is,” Fallon all but snapped back, before her girlfriend pulled her fingers free and tugged her underwear down her legs for her to kick aside. 

Raising an eyebrow but saying nothing, the redhead shifted her way down the bed and then, just to hear the gasp of surprise, hiked her girlfriend’s legs up over her shoulders quickly and without warning before getting to work.

Groaning appreciatively, Fallon carded her fingers into her hair and pulled her even closer still, her grip tightening warningly every time she paused or readjusted herself.

"Okay -" Kirby pulled back abruptly, wiping the corner of her mouth with one thumb and fixing the other woman with a look of sheer frustration. "Can you stop p-"

"Did I  _ say  _ you could stop?"

Both of her eyebrows shot up in surprise, immediately silenced by her own shock and confusion.

“I -”

Fallon’s bare heel dug softly into her back, sliding upwards until she had enough leverage to use her leg to slowly push her girlfriend back down towards the duvet.

“Again. Slower.”

Trying not to smile, Kirby let herself be pushed back down and slid back into her spot, taking the advice of ‘slower’ and pressing one tiny kiss to the inside of her thigh before dragging her lips upward to their target. Fallon’s fingers tightened into her hair - much more gently, organically, this time - and she giggled, quickly stifling the sound.

“Cute,” Kirby mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear. The compliment was genuine, but taking her down a peg was an added bonus.

She didn’t give the brunette a chance to say anything snarky back before flattening her tongue to her and pulling her legs a little closer still. The weak-handed attempts at sternness were laughable at best - Fallon’s in-charge vibe rarely worked within the walls of their room when they were together. The stern tones and harsh demands worked much better in the office or while organizing something around the manor. Now, though, she was sprawled out on top of her bed with her silk robe splayed open, hair tangled and cheeks flushed - it was difficult to be too intimidated by her.

“Exactly like that,” Fallon finally spoke after a moment, her words so shaky that it was almost as if she’d picked up a stutter.

Knowing it was unnecessary, Kirby let her voice rasp when she repeated: “Yeah? Just like that?”

The additional verbal teasing was something she’d become incredibly adept at over time - it wasn’t that outright dirty talk or degradation was the other woman’s go-to turn on but a few well-placed comments here, or a ‘good girl’ there would have the brunette practically melting in her hands - or this case, mouth.

If Fallon had anything to say about it, it lost the battle to an outright whimper, so, mercifully, the redhead pulled away and sat upright.

“Fallon,” she chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna ask again - did you want to get on top?”

The brunette locked eyes with her for a moment, steel-blue almost darkening from what  _ looked _ like anger, but Kirby knew better as ‘irritated defeat’. When she spoke, her voice sounded powerless; meek.

_ “No.” _

_ “Didn’t think so.” _


End file.
